


I'll Always Come Back to You

by Anonymous



Series: Like Absinthe [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cheating, Consent is Sexy, F/M, Loki has a wife, M/M, Tony has a mid-life crisis, Tony/Rumiko is temporary!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Married and living in <i>Japan</i> for the past year, so very far away from a certain mortal, Piotr thought he was finally free. But just when his new life were starting to feel a worn-in pair shoes, Tony comes crashing down into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Always Come Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a million to Mizstorge who beta'd. MIZZY YOU ARE THE BEST. She couldn't actually edit stuff because of problems with her computer, so every little typo you find is ALL MINE AND NOT HER FAULT. If you have the time and wanna do it, please feel free to point them out!
> 
> Brief explanation of Japanese honorifics for those of you who didn't come into fandom from Anime or Manga.
> 
>   * **-san** is unisex, and you add it to both husband and wife's _surnames_ when calling them by it. While not super-formal, it's not informal either. Think Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
>   * **-chan** is for kids, girls, or young women. It denotes affection, and, if used on someone older than 12, that you think they are cute. It's informal, and you add it after _first names._
>   * **-dono** is super respectful, and should be used for people of high social stature, after their surnames. Think Lord and Lady Smith.
> 

> 
> If you are reading this for the first time, ignore the following. I finally gave up to my spidey-sense and changed Megumi's name to Mai.

Japan was a weird place. Or at least Tokyo was.

Tony hadn’t realized exactly _how_ weird, when his taxi had taken him to his hotel. He’d watched the city through the window, bored, and seen little else than cars, buildings, shops, and people milling about.

Well, he’d known they liked to eat rice with two sticks, out of all the possible eating utensils, but the Chinese and other Asian peoples shared that affliction. And the whole drive-on-the-left thing he could understand. But the game shows? He’d actually turned on the TV upon arriving to his room, and the first thing he’d seen was a naked guy eating ramen while spinning inside a washing machine. Yeah, he’d never turned off a TV so fast in his life.

Then there were the preschoolers with the cute yellow construction hats. Like they were putting the little guys to heavy duty. And the Lolitas. And the boybands. The way young guys dressed, with their patterned skinny jeans, designer sneakers, ultra-cool shirts and hyper-styled hair.  The way no one blinked at all when they walked next to a chick with skin so tanned , hair so white, and so much white makeup on her eyes that she looked like the lovechild of an albino raccoon and a black person.

‘ _It’s like being in a zoo,_ ’ Tony reflected as he walked down a street in Akihabara, one hand in his pocket, sipping on a soy milkshake he’d ordered to go. ‘ _But oddly liberating, too_ ,’  he added as he spotted a very cutely dressed girl kiss a guy who was wearing as much makeup as her. ‘ _Anyone can be their inner self here, no matter how weird, and they won’t stand out among all the background weirdness._ ’

His eyes lingered on the happy couple, on their entwined fingers as they walked away from him. He envied the casual affection, the ability to rely on someone else’s presence to comfort you, the knowledge that the very same someone would go out of their way to help you, just because you’d do the same for them.

He missed Pepper.  Or rather, he missed having a relationship with her.

 Not that he would go back to how things were before.  Pepper was always subtly making negative comments so he’d alter a habit here, a word there, his diet, his decorations… And then, when he did it, thinking she’d be satisfied, she’d ask for something else. Tony was chronically one inch shy of being the perfect man for her.   He’d changed so much of himself for the sole purpose of pleasing her that he barely recognized himself by the end.

Neither had Pepper. They’d talked a lot, near the end of their relationship, and she’d realized it also: that she’d gone into their relationship loving the man Tony could one day become. She’d apologized profusely for unwittingly undermining his sense of self-worth after all he’d been through to rescue it. They’d both cried, half in relief at finally having it all out in the open, and then decided to take a long break from each other so they could examine their life choices (and maybe take some therapy) before contemplating being friends again. 

Shaking his head, Tony tossed the half-eaten milkshake into a trashcan. This is why he hated being reminded of Pepper: he got emotional and his stomach cramped up. Now he needed to puke. Great. _Just_ what he needed before a business meeting with Japan’s top avant-garde tech magnate.

Whatever. He’d faced worse. Becoming CEO of a multimillion dollar corporation at the young age of twenty one, he’d had his fair share of legal and contractual battles. Tony Stark would out-shark and out-wolf anyone.

He looked up at a billboard that was actually a giant TV screen, read the time, and cursed.

Yeah, he was gonna be late. As he hailed a taxi, he spared a thought to hope Kenjiro Fujikawa wasn’t too strict on formalities.

* * *

Kenjiro Fujikawa turned out to be _very_ strict about formalities. His Japanese upbringing, Tony suspected, was all that prevented him from outright glaring at Tony for arriving five minutes late.

In the Japanese business world, Tony had been told, everyone greeted each other with a bland, Coulson-style smile. It was a mark of respect, or, at the very least, of willingness to compromise and work out the best deal.

Kenjiro Fujikawa wasn’t smiling when he shook Tony’s hand. “Mr. Stark,” he said, voice deep, “I was expecting Miss Potts.” He spoke with the half-reproaching half-resigned tone of a man who knew he’d been shortchanged but also had no hopes that, by explaining the issue, things might go back to their rightful natural order.

Yeah, like getting SI’s head engineer — not to mention the dude whose name was on the brand — instead of the CEO was a bad deal.

Tony forced himself to smile. “She had other engagements she couldn’t get out of,” he replied in perfect Japanese. Did this Kenjiro dude think that Tony Stark would just _leave_ his projects for any other reason that Pepper needing someone she could trust overseeing the completion of her pet project?

“Hmm,” Fujikawa replied, raising his eyebrows slightly. Bet he wasn’t expecting Tony to speak Jap. “I see. Let us proceed then.” He gestured to a door, beyond which lay a conference room.

Tony followed the directions obediently, setting his suitcase on the table and taking out a folder. It contained everything there was to know about the designs he was selling, except for the actual designs, and he sliding it over to where Fujikawa was taking his seat.

Fujikawa’s face remained set in that unpleasantly-surprised frown for the duration of Tony’s presentation, which was also wholly in Japanese. When Tony finished and he was left to peruse the pretty little folder at his leisure, it was still there. Fujikawa took his time looking through it, humming noncommittally here or there, his finger tracing the lines as he read.

Tony didn’t look at him while he did it, knowing better than to beg for scraps like an over-eager puppy. Instead, he checked his messages, examined his fingernails for any dirt, and watched the stone-faced bodyguard lining the wall behind his prospective business partner.

They were a creepy lot. They just _stood_ there like expensive furniture, looking imposing. They reminded Tony of Buckingham Palace guards, only with neat hairstyles and smart suits rather than the furry helmets and the garish uniforms. They were all very pretty, even the man who had to be at least fifty, and he wondered briefly if they were actually strictly decorative.

Fujikawa cleared his throat suddenly.

Tony snapped to attention. “Yes?” he asked indulgently. Hey, if the dude wasn’t going to give Tony any respect, Tony was going to not-respect him the hell back.

“I have questions,” Fujikawa said. There was the faintest of lines between his eyebrows.

’ _Yes, good_ ,’ thought Tony vindictively, ‘ _be confused so I can lord my superior knowledge over you_.’ Outwardly, he reclined confidently in his chair and grinned. “Ask away, Fujikawa-san.”

* * *

Tony left the Fujikawa Industries offices in a huff, not that anyone would have noticed. He was wearing his smarmiest smile while he clenched his hands in his pockets, well away from anyone’s sight.

Fucking _asshole_.

If this deal weren’t Pepper’s pet project, Tony would already be on the way to the airport. But though they kinda couldn’t stand being in each other’s presence without dying of shame, he still loved her, and he was doing this for her. She’d been hatching this baby for a year, give or take a few months, ever since she’d returned from her get-away-from-Tony trip to Italy.

He needed a drink, ASAP. And a fuck.

Discreetly fuming, Tony hailed a cab to take him back to his hotel so he could get ready for a night out. One stopped, about two steps from Tony.

As he was walking towards it, _a chick appeared out of nowhere and stole it from him._

“Hey, that’s mine!” Tony shouted, now seriously angry. Nothing was going his way today.

The woman — girl, really, froze and looked over to him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said in accented English, voice tiny and hitching.

Tony couldn’t help but notice her red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, and winced. Maybe he didn’t have the market cornered on bad days, after all. “No, you keep it, sorry. Here.” He took out his pocket square, which could double as a handkerchief in a pinch, and offered it to her.

She took it gratefully, daintily dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you. So kind of you.” She smiled tearfully at him. “Would you like to share?” she asked, indicating the cab.

Well, Tony was definitely _not_ going to refuse that. Especially when she was so pretty and clearly in need of a companionship. “Very gracious of you. Yes, please, I’d love to,” he accepted, holding the door open for her.

Once they were both were inside, they decided which destination the cab should visit first — hers, as Tony insisted on paying — and turned to small talk to pass the time.

“I’m Tony, by the way. Tony Stark.” Tony switched seamlessly to Japanese. “And I can speak Japanese, if you prefer.” He smiled at her, trying not to let his eyes stray down to her generous boobs, so temptingly presented in a low-cut shirt.

She returned the smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark,” she replied, her childish voice incongruous with her figure. “Fujikawa Rumiko.” She gave him a slight bow.

‘ _Fujikawa. That explains her knowing English._ ’ Tony returned the short bow, his mind whirling. If he seduced this girl, it would be double the payoff. He could have a great time screwing her while simultaneously screwing with her father. And maybe he could get her to put in a good word with him, who knew?

Perfect revenge.

“If I may be so bold, Rumiko-san,” he started, and then stopped. He’d already fucked up. “I’m sorry, I meant Fujikawa-san.” He shook his head, playing up his dismay at his mistake.

Rumiko giggled prettily. “It’s no problem. You may call me Rumiko if you wish.” She looked at him slyly. “If I may call you Tony in return, of course.”

Aggressive negotiator. Tony liked her already. “Deal, Rumiko-san.” He smiled conspiratorially at her, conscious of exactly how many social taboos they were breaking together by calling each other by their first names. Maybe she wasn’t as indifferent to Tony’s charm as her father… “I meant to ask, if you don’t mind, why were you crying?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, like a teenager. Oops; might have to ask how old she was. “Nothing. My father being an overprotective asshole.”

Tony’s eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. Oookay. There was definitely some tension there; tension he could exploit. “Oh, dear. What did he do? Did he threaten your boyfriend?”

“Hn,” she huffed. “I wish.” She looked out the window and slouched a bit on her seat. Her thick, straight, lustrous black hair shone in the sunset’s light. “He won’t let me date _at all_. I’m twenty five already!”

Oh. Okay, so she was legal. Good to know. “Well. You could start dating without telling him,” Tony suggested idly, as if he wasn’t about to propose himself as the candidate for such dating. “You are a bit old for him to _still_ be controlling every aspect of your life, Rumiko-san.” He reached out and tentatively grazed the back of her hand, the one resting between them on the car seat.

Her head snapped downwards, and she fixed her eyes on the spot where Tony had touched her. Then she trailed them up to his face, her expression slowly becoming understanding. She blushed slightly and pouted coyly. “Oh, Mr. Stark,” she said, humor evident in her voice. “What _are_ your intentions with my poor innocent self?”

Tony smiled in relief; she wasn’t offended. Flirting with younger women was always a gamble… “Why, Fujikawa-san,” he began, sitting up straight and affecting the poise of a fairytale prince, or a British gentleman, “to make it so that you do whatever you want to do, and have all the fun you’ve been missing out on.”

Rumiko’s fake pout turned into a mischievous little grin, her eyes crinkling cutely at the corners. “In that case, Tony,” she said his name like it left her breathless, “I hope you brought a tuxedo. You will be escorting me to my father’s gala.”

* * *

Tony _did_ have a tuxedo. When he was all dressed and gussied up, he rented a limo to pick her up at her the address she’d given him.

Rumiko was _stunning_ in an open-backed dark blue-green gown that complimented her skin perfectly. Her hair was up, except from a few locks here and there that were artfully down, framing her face.

It left Tony with a direct view of her pale neck, and for a moment all he could think about was trailing kisses up and down its slope. He told her that she looked amazing, and she replied that she _was_ amazing, she was only dressed up, which Tony couldn’t contest.

Jaws dropped when they stepped into the gala, except Fujikawa-san’s, which clenched so hard Tony thought he might break his teeth. But the magnate could hardly start in on his daughter’s choice of escort and revealing wear in front of so many people, and Tony got _so_ much satisfaction out of the seeing the fire burning in those eyes that he forgot he was supposed to be sucking up to the dude.

Rumiko’s bodyguard, another decorative-looking woman named Osawa-san, watched Tony and Rumiko hawk-like from the sidelines as they danced, ate and drank.

Then, when Rumiko confessed she was bored as hell, as she always was with high-society parties, a sentiment Tony understood too well, Tony offered to show her what a _real_ party was like. She perked up instantly and accepted at once, and soon enough they were making elaborate plans to ditch Osawa-san and get to a club.

They partied the night away. Then they went to Tony’s hotel room, both completely pissed, and Tony graciously let her have the bed, taking the couch instead no matter how loudly she insisted he join her.

A man has to have some lines he will not cross, after all.

* * *

The next day they both woke up with hangovers. Rumiko suffered hers more, having never had one before, so Tony massaged her temples. They watched some TV, Rumiko explaining the finer points of game shows, while they waited for room service, and then, after eating, she took Tony to her favorite art gallery. That night, they went out in her car and drove around the city before stopping by a karaoke bar.

That day set the standard to which all other days would be held.

They would ditch Osawa-san in increasingly more inventive ways, go play tennis or visit amusement parks by day, go clubbing or bar-hopping by night. Sometimes, Rumiko would ask Tony to keep her company, and they simply walked through a park, Osawa-san trailing after them in the shadows.

They began having sex by Rumiko’s choice. Tony didn’t pressure her at all — in fact, he made sure she knew he didn’t expect anything — but he still managed to get caught with morning wood, and Rumiko decided to help him out. After that, it was like a dam had broken, and she began taking more liberties, like for example sticking her hand down his pants and groping his ass while grinding on the dance floor. The only restriction was that she wanted to stay a virgin by traditional standards, not wishing to wholly depart from her old life. Tony had exactly zero problems with it, and he introduced her to all the non-penetrative fun he could come up with instead.

They got drunk, danced, and fucked, never caring who was watching or what they were thinking. They paid off the bouncers to skip the queues. They drove over the speed limit and ran red light to get places faster. They jumped the turnstiles to the trains just for the hell of it.

No more “Again, Tony?” this or “Tony! Tony _no!_ ” that to cramp his style. Rumiko didn’t judge him for wanting to party, drive fast, and fuck pretty girls, like Pepper had. She didn’t complain about his drinking, as she matched him shot for shot — to the point Tony usually had to stop before she got alcohol poisoning, and she joked afterwards that Tony was a lightweight. Everything Tony chose to buy for her, she accepted it eagerly, always thanking him and telling him how lovely it was, never nitpicking details — “Tony, you know red looks horrible with my complexion,” or “No, Tony, I wanted a _night_ perfume,” — like Pepper used to do.

On the eighth day, Tony was called by Rumiko’s father into a meeting, ostensibly to talk over the deal. It turned out to be more along the lines of ‘stop seeing my daughter or I won’t sign anything’, which Tony answered with his new default response to ultimatums: “I do what I want.”

Being this immature, this _unrestricted_ again was liberating. Like Tony had lived the last decade with a leash around his neck and it was finally off.

That night, they partied extra hard. Come 4 a.m., they were drunk as hell and tired, but they couldn’t find a taxi to take them back to Tony’s hotel. So they took Rumiko’s car. As she was falling asleep on her feet, Tony took the wheel, trusting his body memory.

He didn’t pause to consider that the Japs drove on the other side of the road.

The crash was spectacular.

* * *

Tony woke up in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital. His blood-alcohol levels were way higher than the U.S. max, let alone the Japanese ones.

He had the biggest concussion he’d ever received, even considering his hobby of saving the world, but he still managed to try to bribe the paramedics into concealing the DUI. He _did not_ want to be deported, not when Pepper’s baby was riding on him.

And, shit, Rumiko! Poor girl, getting caught up in all of Tony’s shit!

Oh, he done fucked up. He was so ashamed of himself that, thanks to the drunkenness, tears came pouring out of his eyes. “How—Rumiko. How’s she?” he wailed.

The paramedics looked at each other and ignored him.

Remembering he was in Japan, he asked again in Japanese, grabbing at one of the paramedics’ hand.

He or she, Tony couldn’t tell, merely paid him enough mind to dose him with a sedative.

Next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital. Surprisingly not in handcuffs, though he only found that out when he lifted a hand to scratch his itchy cheeks. Though, as far as he knew, maybe there were Japanese cops right outside his door, only they were civilized enough not to handcuff an unconscious man.

He got up to pee, taking his saline drip with him, and then he waited patiently for someone to come tell him his fate. He hoped Rumiko was okay. (He wondered at his suspicious zen-ness. Had they drugged him?)

The next person to come in the door was a nurse, who changed his IV bag and his sheets. Tony took the opportunity to ask after Rumiko. She looked disapprovingly at him and ushered him into the shower, not answering.

Then came the food. Tony had tried calling Rumiko’s phone, but it kept going to voicemail. He tried to distract himself by watching TV, but he zapped through all the channels and nothing held his attention. There was no mention of the crash.

At about 5 p.m. he was feeling well enough to walk around, and he decided to go down to the lobby and ask the receptionist about Rumiko. There were clothes — his own clothes, scuffed, torn, and spattered with blood in places — in the tiny closet, and he was buttoning his jeans when, at long last, a doctor came in to do a check up on him.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony was declared free to go.

He got his shirt back on and walked out of the hospital. Just like that, no muss, no fuss. As if Japs weren't infamous worldwide for being total handasses about drunk drving.

What the hell, right? Why look a gift horse in the mouth?

The first thing he did when he got out was phone Rumiko again. Like every time before, it went to voice mail. Tony was staring to get really anxious about that, and decided to look for her with his less-savory skills. For that, he needed a computer, and his was back at the hotel, so he went out to get a taxi.

As he walked, Tony looked up news websites on his phone, hoping to find some mention of Rumiko if he dug deep enough.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stark?” a voice called

He turned around with a soft, “Mmmhmm?” pointing his face in its general direction a second before raising his eyes from his phone.

Only to find himself face to face with Mai Osawa.

He started badly, and then his heart felt like it had fallen through a hole in his stomach. “Uhhh, Osawa-san, right?” he asked, shoulders hunching slightly. ‘ _Please don’t say I killed Rumiko. Please, please, please_.’

“Mr. Stark,” Osawa-san said, bowing deferentially. “If you will please follow me now, there is a car waiting for you.” She spoke in almost perfect English. American, too, none of that British rubbish.

It was the first time Tony had heard her talk, and he couldn’t recall having ever heard such a lovely, angelic voice. Not even Rumiko’s when she was playing coy. He was struck for a second or two, trying to parse the feeling it evoked in him, and then gave up. He could still hear echoes of her voice in his ears. Like his brain wasn’t quite ready to let go yet.

Tony shook his head, clearing of the lingering light-headedness. “Sure thing,” he said, hoping the echo-like effect surrounding her was just the painkillers talking, and not the concussion. “Point the way.” Then his brain played back what had just been said.

A _car_ was waiting for him _._

 _‘A car to where?’_ he thought, and then something so horrible crossed his mind that it made his blood freeze in his veins. ‘ _God, if you exist...’_ he swallowed thickly. _‘Tony here. Please don’t let our destination be Rumiko’s funeral. Please. I’ll be good._ ’

Osawa-san smiled thinly at him. She bowed again, just slightly, like the calculated politeness of a hundred generations of kimono-wearing high-society ladies was pressing her head down against her will. “Follow me.” 

Tony was struck again, his heart doing a little flip. And not in the pleasant way, either: it just stopped, did a little flutter like a car failing to start, and resumed. “Ah, Osawa-san,” he said breathlessly, eyes wide, “I might need to go back inside.” His chest, right beneath the where the arc reactor used to be, felt hollow, and he rubbed the spot to reassure himself the old chasm hadn’t spontaneously opened back up. Solid flesh greeted him. “There’s—there’s something wrong.” He was hyperventilating, he noticed nonchalantly.

Rumiko’s (ex?)bodyguard frowned slightly, her eyes a lot sharper than a few seconds ago as she considered him. Then she took a step back and her eyes fell away from his.

Tony felt like ten Hummers had just been lifted off his chest. “Oh, it’s gone,” he observed surprised. Still rubbing his chest, he looked back over his shoulder at the hospital. “Good. Gonna get that checked out—“

“There is no need, Mr. Stark,” Osawa-san said. She bowed again, deeper this time. An apology. “I had not realized you were so sensitive. I will endeavor to be more careful in your presence.”

Understandably, Tony had no idea what to say to that. More careful with what? Was Osawa-san a mutant, to have her mere presence affect Tony so strongly? Maybe she was Asgardian. If Tony had felt a pressure on his chest around Loki or Amora, he didn’t know; back then he’d still had the arc reactor, and the feeling of having his lungs crushed had been a constant. “Uuhhh, okay. Yeah, you do that.”

She looked him in the eye again. In the sunset, her irises looked golden, and her porcelain skin reflected the light into a golden aura. Then she looked away and gestured to a car that had been waiting for them this whole time. “Our ride to your accommodations.”

Tony’s relieved sigh was explosive, bursting from his mouth like air escaping a balloon. Not a funeral, then. Heh, talk about jumping to conclusions. “Right. Accommodations. Sure.” He got into the car, still rubbing his chest. He’d have to get his heart checked out later, on the sly.

Osawa-san joined him silently, looking like a china doll dressed in a power suit.

The engineer thought about asking after Rumiko’s health, but something in the stoic set of her bodyguard’s mouth scared him, and he couldn’t gather the courage.

They spent the car ride in silence, Tony too simultaneously anxious about Rumiko, worried about his health, and ashamed of himself to fill it with idle chatter. Osawa-san didn’t seem to mind.

* * *

The car stopped right outside an important-looking house in the old Japanese style. White walls, rice-paper sliding doors, wooden decks, curving roofs in black tile, pond with the bamboo thingy that went _clack_ when it filled up with water, the whole shebang.

Yep. Definitely not Tony's hotel.

Tony was really hesitant of getting out. He wouldn’t put it past Fujikawa to have him kidnapped and brought to this did-we-accidentaly-step-into-the-Edo-period house so he could kill Tony in person. “Uh, this isn’t my hotel,” he said nervously, seatbelt still on. He wasn’t going _anywhere._

Osawa-san smiled like she was trying not to deck him for his lack of cooperation. “Indeed it is not. Your hotel decided it did not want your business after all.”

This was news for Tony. “What?”

“They learned of your drunk driving despite the Hirai successfully keeping it a secret from the press and the authorities,” she explained. “The incident was the last in a series of snubs and infractions, and they no longer wish to host you and your shameful activities.”

Oops. Maybe Tony and Rumiko should have toned their partying down a bit. And cleaned up the food as soon as it fell on the carpet. And not forgotten to turn of the water of the sink before heading out that one time.

Wait.

“You covered it up?” he asked, incredulous. No wonder he hadn’t been arrested or deported. But… “Why?”

Osawa-san merely answered, “Fujikawa-dono wished it so.”

Which only confused Ton all the more. Why on Earth would Rumiko’s father, who hated Tony with every fiber of his being, not jump at the chance to be rid of him? He wasn’t an authority on fathers, but weren’t they supposed to look out for their kids and encourage them to leave their bad influences? Maybe Kenjiro guessed how heartbroken Rumiko would be and chose to help her keep Tony around?

…Nah. Rumiko had probably given him an ultimatum.

“Hmm. Okay.” Tony opened the car door and slowly got out. He felt no dizziness from standing, so he decided the concussion was not terrible. Sure, the doctors had said the same and let him walk out, but Tony didn’t trust emergency rooms. Japanese, American, European, it didn’t matter; there was a reason he had his own private doctor.

Osawa-san got out as well and rounded the car, joining him. She led him into the house, which was huge and smelled of wax, and from there into a guest room.

There was a floral-print futon already rolled out. Tony’s bags, all three of them, had been emptied into the wardrobe and were now piled up in a corner. The case with the collapsible Iron Man suit was in the closet, as well.

Great service.Tony wondered whom he should tip, and how much.

“Dinner will be served at half past eight,” Osawa-san said. “Someone will come to escort you.” She then proceeded to tell Tony the house rules, standing there looking like a porcelain doll.

Tony gathered that living in Casa Fujikawa was going to be just like living in prison.

Well, at least it wasn’t a cave.

* * *

The next few days proved him wrong, however.

Sure, he had a bedtime, and he couldn’t do anything loud past lights-out, but he was otherwise free to roam the house. He could leave it, too, if he wanted, and someone would drive him to his destination. He hadn’t seen Rumiko or Fujikawa-san, but the servants treated him like an honored guest.

There were a million cats around the property. Okay, overstatement; more like four cats. Three of them were outside cats, and Tony only saw them when he took a stroll down the studiously natural-looking garden. The last one, a white furball by the improbable name of Freya, lived inside and stuck to Tony like a white shadow. It even followed him to the bathroom, scratching the door to be let inside while Tony was soaking in the bathtub.

When he complained about this — affectionately, though, as he actually liked the creature — while making smalltalk to the maid, she actually cracked a smile and told him it belonged to the other Osawa-san, Mai’s husband.

She lived in the Fujikawa mansion because she was Rumiko’s bodyguard. Since apparently being on hand at all times was non-negotiable, her husband — apparently a Russian dude she’d met while in Italy — had come to live with her. Tony hadn’t met him yet because he never got up before ten in the morning, and Osawa-san was a high school teacher.

A Russian who'd met his wife in Italy, teaching English in Japan. And coaching the baseball team, according to the maid. Tony found this miracle of Globalization hilarious.

But he got to meet him, alright, on the fifth day. By complete accident, upon returning from his overnight trip to an onsen out of town.

He’d seen one in a cartoon and thought they looked real comfy, so he’d decided to visit. Going alone wasn’t so fun, but he met up with a group of three, one of which was a third wheel, and he’d charmed his way into her bathrobe. He’d left the inn at the very last moment before heading back to the Fujikawa mansion, and he stupidly forgot to eat dinner before the trip. Not wanting to make a spectacle of himself by taking the Iron Man armor, he’d gone by car, and since it was a Sunday he got caught in traffic.

He got back like one hour before midnight, feeling like his stomach was trying to digest itself for lack of anything else, and only remembered that Sundays were the employee’s free days when he couldn’t find any of them to feed him.

Grumbling, he made his way to the kitchen area, deciding he, as a grown man, could feed himself. And the second he walking through the door, he bumped into someone.

Someone who was six inches taller than Tony, and sported a glorious full black beard and matching hair in a military buzz-cut. He was rather soft around the middle, or maybe it was the argyle sweater-vest he was wearing that created that illusion. No, wait, the khakis were definitely cutting into his stomach, and it wasn’t just the beard that made his face look huge. Chubby, then.

“Whoops, my bad,” Tony said in the tone of a kid caught his hand in the cookie jar. But the guy wasn’t too intimidating, so he chanced a look at his eyes.

They were black as beetles under thick eyebrows, staring back at him in surprise. He wasn’t Japanese — in fact, he looked Caucasian under all the facial hair. The man had a long nose, crooked in a way that only made him more handsome. It reminded Tony of Luke’s nose. _Loki's_ nose. Whatever. 

Chubby, argyle, khakis, Caucasian? Math didn't lie, this _had_ to be mysterious international-blend husband.

“You must be Osawa-san.” Tony grinned at him and stuck out his hand.

The man nodded slowly, his eyes boring into Tony’s (if he didn’t know better, Tony would describe it as ‘searchingly’) as he took his hand. His fingers were calloused and thin, but warm. “Mr. Stark,” he said back, his voice gruff.

“That’s me,” Tony answered, infusing it with extra cheer. He hoped it was OK for him to be rummaging through the kitchen for noms, or that, if it wasn’t, Osawa-san wouldn’t tattle on him. “Say, do you think there’s anything here I can eat?”

And that was how Tony and creepy-mutant-lady’s husband ended up dining together.

Tony learned that the guy’s name was Piotr and that he had a _charming_ Russian accent when he spoke English, that he coached little league baseball (he’d known that already, but it was interesting seeing the glow in the guy’s face as he talked about ‘his kids’), that he was currently attempting to teach Shakespeare to a bunch of really uninterested sixteen-year-olds, that he’d taken Mai’s surname upon marrying her.

But Tony gave back as good as he got, regaling his dinner companion with Iron Man anecdotes, funny stories about the Avengers, the tale of why he’d ended up resigning from the group except when he was called in as a special consultant.

Then things slowly got more personal, and Tony found himself telling Piotr about breaking up with Pepper, about how fucked up he’d been after that, how fucked up he feared he still was. And the guy, not one to leave Tony out in the open by himself, confessed he’d only married Mai for the visa, but she was still the best life-partner he’d ever had, and he worried what it said about him.

Piotr was warm and engaging, which wasn’t surprising for a teacher. He was also wickedly smart and he had a very dark sense of humor, which Tony hadn’t expected from the whole argyle situation. And there was something about the way he kept staring at Tony, at his hands and his lips and his eyes — something like hunger — that got Tony’s blood boiling.

It was extremely weird for him, this sudden attraction. He usually lusted only after conventionally beautiful people: pretty face, big tits and small waists for women; for men, well… He’d only ever been attracted to Loki-shaped guys. Piotr was different from anyone Tony had been interested in before. He was chubby, had terrible fashion sense and hilariously inappropriate humor, and hid his face behind a mass of hair.

When the man brushed against him to get his empty plate into the sink, Tony caught a whiff of his cologne, and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

He grabbed Piotr’s wrist and took the plate from him, holding his eyes as he carelessly set it down behind him. He really hoped he wasn’t reading this wrong… “So, I kinda want to kiss you,“ he muttered, changing his grip so he was holding Piotr’s warm hand instead. “Do you want me to?”

Piotr’s face was turned towards their twined hands, a flush barely visible on his cheeks under the beard. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded to himself and looked up. Holding Tony’s eyes, he stepped closer, crowding him against the counter, and cupped Tony’s face gently. “Please do.” He offered a hesitant smile.

‘ _Thank God_ ,’ Tony thought as he leaned up the last few inches and pressed his lips to the corner of Piotr’s mouth.

Some two years ago (wow, how time flew), when he’d kissed Mark—no, Loki, he’d thought joining goatees was a funny sensation. He’d never anticipated kissing a hairy Russian. Long beards were _fluffy_. And soft, apparently, which Tony had not expected at all from the way his own goatee was all bristly.

Piotr’s beard was incredibly soft and nice on Tony’s face, even when his goatee tangled in it and dragged the fine hairs around, and he spent far too long simply brushing his lips over it, luxuriating in the feeling.

But then Piotr, getting impatient, turned his head and found Tony’s mouth with hot lips, grunting into the kiss. His hand stroked Tony’s jaw on its way to burrowing in his hair, warm and textured, and he squeezed Tony’s fingers with the other one.

Tony squeezed back, opening his mouth under Piotr’s questing tongue and sucking on it. He moaned and curled his arm around him, clutching the hideous argyle sweater vest and pulling him closer.

Piotr took that for the invitation it was, making a fist in his hair and pulling his head back for a better angle. He kissed Tony like he wanted to devour him, practically drinking his breath from his mouth like a drowning man sucking in air.

And Tony had no complaints at all. Piotr clearly wanted him very much, going by the hardness poking his lower belly, and dammit, it felt _amazing_. He let go of Piotr’s hand to grab his ass, rubbing his hips against Piotr to show him how enthusiastic he was too. Breathless already, he nipped hungrily at his lips.

Piotr’s breath puffed over Tony’s cheek as they rolled their hips together, finding a rhythm that suited them both. It was warm — everything about Piotr was warm. His hands, one holding the back of Tony’s neck and the other up the bottom of his shirt, were searing hot as they explored him, branding him. The thigh that slipped between his legs was a solid warmth against Tony’s heated crotch.

Fuck. Tony hadn’t been kissed like this in a long while. He tugged on Piotr’s vest and pulled away, panting. “Bedroom,” he growled, looking straight into his partner’s eyes from under heavy eyelids.

Piotr regarded him mutely, flushed and panting as well, eyes boring into Tony intimately. He licked his lips — Tony’s vision zeroing in on the quick dart of the pink tongue and staying there after it had retreated — and kissed Tony again, open-mouthed and slow.

Hot. So hot. Tony was burning up. He tugged on Piotr’s vest again, this time pulling it up, wanting it off. But he was stopped with a sharp bite to his upper lip and a warning squeeze to his shoulder.

“Bedroom,” Piotr whispered into his mouth, so close their lips stuck together as he spoke. His eyes were closed, and he opened them as he pulled away, taking a step back. “Yours. Unless you want my wife watching.”

Tony shivered, half from the sudden in the sudden cold and half from the mental image. He understood now the appeal of fucking married people. But no, he didn’t want Mai watching them with her cold hawk-eyes, with that sly smile on her red lips. He was stealing Piotr from her for the night. “Mine,” he said, and unglued himself from the counter. Right after, he melted into Piotr, burying his face in his beard to find his mouth and kiss it.

Piotr’s hands found his ass, squeezing proprietorially as he bit Tony’s tongue and sucked on it. Powerful hands, too, able to part buttocks and press into the skin behind the balls through jeans, making Tony moan. He nosed along Tony’s cheek, leaving a trail of wet kisses cooled with puffs of breath. “Stop it, Tony, or I’ll have you right here,” he warned, sucking the earlobe into his mouth. “I’ll bend you over the table, drag your jeans down just enough to expose your ass,” he slapped a cheek and gripped it hand, fingertips digging into the seams between Tony’s legs, “and I’ll take you _raw_.”

Yeah, Tony was all but putty at the heated words. He _wanted_ that. Except for the ‘raw’ bit. Maybe some olive oil instead, and Piotr could lick Tony’s thighs clean of whatever dripped down… He looked up into Piotr’s black, black eyes. “Sounds good, Baby,” he smirked, rubbing his hips up into Piotr’s leg in one sinuous wave. “I hear the Ancient Greeks loooved olive oil.” He wiggled his eyebrows, biting his lower lip.

Piotr let out a bark of laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We have olive oil here,” he said, looking like a kid in a candy store, his hands kneading Tony’s ass. Then he stopped, face falling. “But no condoms.” His hands fell to his sides.

“In my bag,” Tony replied at once, not bothering to point out that latex and oil mixed a little too well. He always carried polyurethane condoms as well as the regular kind, just of the off chance his partner had a latex allergy. He made his way to where he’d dropped his bag on a chair, and rummaged through it. He didn’t look, but he was pretty sure Piotr was getting the oil. His dick twitched in anticipation as he fished out a silver foil packet and tossed it onto the table.

Suddenly, Piotr’s hands were on Tony, pulling him back into his chest violently. He stroked Tony’s front while he kissed and sucked on the side of his neck, hands palming his belly and delineating his ribs. His erection rubbed slowly but hard into Tony’s ass as he played with the nipples through the clothes, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

The playboy couldn’t help but melt against him, head lolling sideways and giving Piotr more room on his neck. He sighed in pleasure, reaching over his head to rub Piotr’s buzzcut and enjoying the sensation, his other hand grabbing one of Piotr’s and moving it to his crotch.

Laughing at his bluntness, Piotr obligingly fondled Tony’s cock, kneading the bulge. Biting Tony’s beck, he pressed the man’s hips into his own, all but dry-humping his ass while he jerked him through the jeans, until Tony was a writhing mess in his arms.

“Nhh, more,” Tony groaned, eyes falling closed as he thrust up into the warm hand. This position, having Piotr manhandling him from behind, reminded suddenly of that time he’d let Luke — Loki, dammit. The time he’d let Loki fuck him in the shower of that rundown apartment. He panted, his asshole feeling suddenly empty and hungry for a cock. “More, Loki, please,” he moaned desperately, not knowing what he was saying.

Piotr’s hands stilled, his breath catching.

Not knowing what he’d done wrong, Tony turned his head and rubbed his cheek into Piotr’s soft beard. “What’s wrong?” he asked dizzily, thumb stroking the back of Piotr’s hand encouragingly. “Do you wanna stop?”

For all answer, Piotr gripped his chin in a rough hold and twisted his head. He kissed Tony roughly, biting and sucking at his lips and tongue, sucking the breath right out of him. He shoved his hand down the front of Tony’s jeans and gripped his cock hard.

Tony whimpered, rolling his hips into the touch, loving the rough-but-not-really treatment. Who would have guessed a middle-aged professor who still though sweater vests were cool had it in him to so utterly _own_ Tony?

Then, out of the blue, Piotr undid Tony’s fly and pushed him forward into the table with his whole body, giving him enough momentum that his torso fell forward onto the flat wooden surface.

Tony’s chin hurt where he’d hit it, but he didn’t care, he was more interested in the furious cock rubbing into his crack, right behind his balls. “Ah—fuck yes,” he panted, getting up on his forearms and twisting to look at Piotr.

Piotr shoved him back down immediately, keeping the hand on the back of Tony’s neck, pressing him flat on the table. His other hand tugged down Tony’s jeans and boxers to just under his ass, exactly like he’d promised.

Then, the sound of a zipper being undone. Clothed rustling. The hand on Tony’s neck disappeared to grab the foil square, retreating beyond Tony’s vision. The distinctive sound of a condom packet being opened.

Tony swallowed thickly. What about the oil? A ball of dread settled in his stom—

Fingers on his asshole, just outside. Warm and slick.

“Do you still want this?” Piotr asked, his voice kind. One of his hands settled on Tony’s lower back, thumb stroking in reassuring circles.

Relieved, Tony deflated in a long, sweet sigh. He smiled, hoping his lover could see it from his vantage point. “You bet I do,” he replied. Then he tilted his hips up. “Get on with it.”

The fingers lathered olive oil all over his crack in one long pass, massaging his asshole. Then one dipped inside, twisting to coat everything in oil.

“I can take another,” Tony insisted. Nothing hurt, except maybe his chin. He wanted that cock inside him _now,_ filling up the emptiness that had plagued him since... Since.  “Come on,” he urged, thrusting back onto the hot, thin finger inside of him.

Piotr pressed him down with the hand on the small of Tony’s back, holding him still against the tabletop . His legs, so close to Tony’s radiated warmth. He added another finger by simply taking out the first and pressing them back in together, scissored them around, and then jabbed Tony’s prostate like he’d known all along exactly where it was.

Tony moaned like well-paid pornstar, scratching the wood as his hands became fists. His hot breaths were fogging the polished wooden surface, but he didn’t care. He stretched his arms forward over his head, grabbing onto the far edge of the table.

Piotr returned to fingering him, adding a third finger and just _doing magic_. He wiggled them around, twisting and turning and curling them, his thumb pressing into Tony’s perineum for purchase as he fucked them in and out.

Little more than a writhing mess, all Tony could do was try not to choke on his whimpers as shock after shock of pleasure wrecked him. And still… he wanted that cock. “Fuck me,” he panted. “Pleassse. Fuck me…”

“No need to beg, Tony,” Piotr said, and was that affection in his voice? His fingers withdrew anyway, which was the effect Tony had been going for, and a blunt cockhead replaced them, pressing slowly into him. 

Tony snapped his hips back, not content with the pace. “Fuck me!” he cried. “Come on! Hard!” Then, Piotr’s hand clamped onto the back of his neck again, squeezing, and he shut up.

The Russian complied, plowing into him. It nearly sent Tony off the far end of the table, moaning in triumph loudly enough to wake the house, and Piotr had to grab his hips on either side to get some purchase.

But once they found a rhythm, they stuck with it, Piotr grunting and drilling into Tony with loud slapping sounds that filled the empty kitchen, Tony snapping his hips back on every thrust, trying to remember how to breathe, his hands cramping from holding so tightly to the table.

It was over in an embarrassingly short time, for both of them. Tony lasted like twenty seconds — if anyone asked him, he’d claim he’d been really, really revved up — before calling out Piotr’s name and splattering jizz all over the table, and Piotr managed to hold on scantly longer. Afterwards, they were a pile of limp bodies and tangled limbs on the table while they caught their breath.

Piotr was the first to move, sounding like he was making a superhuman effort by getting to his feet. He patted Tony’s well-used rump, took off the condom and, tucking his hanging cock back into his pants, went to look for some paper towels and the trash bin.

When he came back, Tony was still bent over the table, breathing normally now. His inner thighs were coated in olive oil, the hairs matted to his skin, and his balls, also slick with it, gleamed at Piotr from the darkness.

Piotr wiped him clean, taking care not to irritate the already reddened asshole further, and then bunched the soiled paper towels into balls and tossed them in the trash to keep the condom company.

“Thanks.” Getting up at last, Tony grabbed the roll, tore off two or three squares, and wiped up his cum off the table. He stretched, popping his back, and sighed in pleasure. “Do you have anything to drink around here?” he asked as he pulled up his pants, doing them up again.

Piotr smiled and sat at the table, setting out a small bottle and two tiny bowl-like dishes. “Way ahead of you, Tony,” he said, pouring sake for them both and handing Tony one of the dishes. He took his own like a vodka shot.

Tony grinned and copied him, enjoying the taste and the burn. He slapped the table and hooted when he regained his ability to breathe. “More,” he demanded, setting the cute little dish down.

The man who’d just fucked him into the dining table of their host gave him a small smile that made his mustache twitch. He served Tony more of the stuff. “Oh, by the way,” he said, pouring more into his own dish, “what gave me away?”

Tony paused in the act of grabbing the sake cup. “Huh?” He had no idea what Piotr was talking about.

“Come now.” Piotr scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You called my name twice. Now you’re going to play dumb?” His Russian accent was gone. In its stead there was something not-quite-British about his vowels.

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Holy sh— _Loki?_ ” His eyes, bugging out, roved all over Piotr—Loki. Loki?

Shit, how did this keep happening? How many times was he going to have sex with a man, find anew what he'd felt with Luke that first time, only for that man to turn out to be Loki all along? How many possible combinations of hairstyles and contact lenses would Loki have to go through before Tony had fucked him in every possible configuration?

Piotr— _Loki_ stared at him, taken aback. “You mean…” His eyes flitted to Tony’s, who avoided the gaze. “…You didn’t recognize me?” He hid his face in his hand. “Just blew my own cover. Well done, Piotr.”

Tony finally shook out of his stupor. “ _How_ on Earth would I recognize you?” he asked, before throwing back the sake. He coughed at the burn. “I last saw you like two years ago.” He gestured at him, indignant. “And you got fat! And look at you, you even have wrinkles!”

Loki’s face, or as much of it as Tony could see with the beard in the way, went stony, his eyes growing sharp and cold, like shards of ice, even under the contacts. “Watch your tongue, mortal,” he said.

And maybe it was Tony’s imagination, but Loki’s voice wavered a bit. He shrugged. “You are a mortal too, now, aren’t you? Do _you_ have to watch your tongue?”

Loki’s eyes dropped to the table, to where his hands were making fists. He took a couple breaths and then stood up, facing away from Tony. “Goodnight, Tony Stark,” he said with finality, and walked away.

Wha—he was _leaving_? “No, wait!” Tony yelped, scrambling after him. “Wait, Loki, I didn’t mean it that way!” He caught Loki’s arm, pulling him to a stop.

Loki didn’t face him or turn around.

Now that Tony knew who Piotr was, the gorgeous beard seemed nothing but an abomination, covering up that pretty face. Maybe that’s why he had it, he reflected. Maybe Loki had wrinkles around the corners of his mouth, and getting old scared the lights out of him, so he covered the signs of aging.

The realization hit Tony like a brick.

Loki was _mortal_. Loki was _dying_ , with every day he lived. Slowly, death crept closer, and humans as a rule had made their peace with that fact, but Loki? Loki had been a god. Immortal. Death was something that happened to someone else. But his people, the ones who had rejected him and disowned him, had made it so it would happen to him, too.

Tony let go of Loki’s arm, and, in the next instant, he was hugging him around the ribs, eyes stinging. And Tony thought _he_ was lonely. “…I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, holding Loki tighter. It was really comfortable, he noticed. “I’m sorry.”

Loki deflated with a huge sigh, all his indignation escaping with it, leaving him only hollow. “That doesn’t take away the fact that you are right.” He shook slightly. “How… How do you do it? How do you get out of bed every morning when you wake up knowing that death will take you, and there is _nothing_ ,” he spat that word, “you can do?” His hand covered Tony’s arms.

Tony was so not ready for this. But he did the best he could anyway, like he always did. “We fill our days with things that help us forget we’re going to die, that nothing we do matters in the grand scheme of things,” he murmured into Loki’s back. “Some of us mortals get lucky in the genetic lottery and they are too stupid to even contemplate the meaning of life, too busy making a huge production out of their daily lives. To be truthful, I envy them sometimes.”

Loki slowly turned around in Tony’s arms. He hesitantly hugged him back. “And you? How do _you_ deal?”

Tony looked up at him and saw unshed tears in his eyes. This subject really mattered to him, then. “By doing things that _do_ matter in the grand scheme of things. By making myself unforgettable.” He grinned, but it was forced. “That’s about all the immortality I can aspire to.”

Loki’s eyes softened, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Tony’s lips.

It made Tony’s heart flutter in a completely different way than the prospect of sex. He blushed.

“Liar,” Loki murmured sweetly, stroking Tony’s jaw. “You do what you want. You fill your days with happiness, and then you’ll die with a smile on your face.”

“You got me,” Tony replied, cupping Loki’s side with one hand. “But not every day. Happiness is a statistic. It’s when you balance out all the times you did what you loved versus those when  you did what you had to do, and you come out on top.”

Loki’s eyebrows drew together, higher in the middle of his forehead. It gave him an oddly innocent and tragic look, like that of a lost child. “I don’t think I come out on top.” He smiled sadly. “I grew up doing what I had to do, and it never worked out…” He swallowed. “How do you live for yourself?”

‘ _Oh, boy_ ,’ thought Tony. Loki was _seriously_ fucked up. At least he had broken free within less than five years of Pepper’s unconscious and subtle undermining of everything that was Tony, but Loki had endured that sort of thing for _millennia_. No wonder, then, that he kept changing his name, appearance and mannerisms. He was trying to find out who Loki was.

“Therapy,” Tony answered, convinced that the single best thing he could do now was introduce Loki to his therapist. “Therapy is the way to go. Try it out.” He leaned up to kiss Loki, and their beards got tangled. “And for God’s sake, get rid of this thing,” he complained.

Loki merely pulled away, extricating his glorious beard, and stroked it. “I don’t know. I’m kinda liking it.” He grinned.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s an amazing beard, really, and clearly you’ve taken great care of it.” He tugged on the hairs. “But it’s not made for your face. Not this style, at least.”

“Hmmm. Maybe I could be persuaded,” Loki murmured, trailing a finger all over Tony’s chest in random patters. “For the right price, of course.”

Insatiable. Lovely. Tony grinned confidently. “Well, if I remember right, I think I owe you a ride from last time?”

Loki’s eyes widened, and he grabbed Tony’s hand. “Your room,” he said urgently, tugging on it, “ _now_.”

Tony obliged.

* * *

Loki, sweater off and tossed into a corner, rolled the futon out expertly.

Meanwhile, Tony watched and checked out his ass, still not quite believing that leather-metal-and-pain Loki was dressing in argyle and khakis — and probably loafers, too, if the Japanese wore shoes inside. His ass was no longer skinny; married life clearly suited him. “You know,” he said at last, eyes still fixed on the wiggling gluts, “I never would have recognized you. Ever.”

Loki, now contacts-less, met his eyes over his shoulder, grinning. “That _is_ rather the point of a disguise,” he said, pulling off his socks and crawling onto the futon on his knees.

Tony wondered if the softening around the middle was part of the disguise, too, or if Loki had resigned himself to being simply human. He remembered, suddenly, how it had felt like to hug him. “Yeah, but still. What’s up with the Viking beard?”

“I never managed to grow one before,” Loki said, unbuttoning his shirt, his back to Tony. “But I’m much hairier as a mortal, so I—oof!”

Tony had jumped on him, arms curling around his stomach, sending them both forward into the covers.

“— _Tony Stark!_ ” came Loki’s strangled, indignant voice.

He laughed and clutched Loki tighter. Yeah, very nice indeed. Loki was so huggable now what he was doughy around the middle!

Loki disagreed. He squirmed furiously. “Let go of me!” he growled, elbowing his assailant in the ribs.

Tony yelped. “Sorry, sorry, getting off,” he choked out, scrambling to do exactly that.

Turning on himself like some kind of snake, Loki followed him and pushed him down flat on his back, pinned under Loki’s weight, his knees bent awkwardly Loki loomed over them.

Tony stared up at him, his heart was beating double-time, and not just from panic. Loki was so fucking _manly_ with that beard, and his eyes, green again, were as intense as ever.

Loki glared incredulously at him. “What the hell was _that_?” He shoved Tony’s shoulders deeper into the futon.

“I dunno,” Tony replied, looking away. How could he tell Loki that he’d felt irrationally happy to see him again, alive and well, after more than two years? He drummed his fingers on the covers and licked his lips. “I guess I was just happy to see you,” he grinned, like he’d just told he best joke ever.

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing together into a thin line. He regarded Tony for several seconds more, as if trying to discern whether he was lying, before deflating and shaking his head. “I’ll never understand you.” He backed off, sitting on his ankles in the utmost Japanese position: seiza.

Tony got up on his elbows, staring at him. Then he sat up and shuffled closer to Loki, looking at the V of naked skin revealed by Loki’s half-undone shirt. He raised his hands to the next button, watching Loki’s face and waiting for permission.

At last, Loki looked him in the eye and his face softened. A line between his eyebrows softened into merely a wrinkle, and the lines around his mouth deepened as he gave Tony a small half-smile.

‘ _He’s aged,_ ’ Tony realized, undoing the button slowly. The new give of the shirt uncovered a thin, silvery scar on Loki’s stomach, and he traced it with his thumb. ‘ _Mortality is catching up with him, fast._ ’ Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed the crook of Loki’s neck softly, the beard brushing his temple.

Loki’s hand came up to cup his head, carding through the hair. “You meant it,” he said, his voice very close to Tony’s ear. He sounded surprised; the little “Huh,” he breathed afterwards sounded pleased.

Tony kissed his neck again and pulled back up to look at him. Loki was blushing slightly, his eyes glittering, and Tony returned the soft smile. “Yeah, I meant it,” he conceded, undoing the next button. “I’m still sorry I told on you.” He let go of the shirt.

That button had been the last one, and now the shirt fell open, framing Loki’s slightly tanned chest, with its scars and freckles and even a few pimples here and there. There was one scar over Loki’s right hip, small and precise. Tony was surprised to feel some recognition: it was an appendectomy scar.

Loki was totally human, then, if he could have such common human ailments as the odd pimple, tanning-induced freckles, wrinkles, and appendicitis. He was human, adn that meant he was powerless, unimportant. And to think he’d once commanded an army, wielded magic like Earth had never seen before, been immortal and a prince of two realms.

Tony’s eyes stung a bit; his throat tightened slightly. He suddenly felt a mighty need to hold Loki and kiss him. So he did just that.

Loki welcomed him with a soft noise of acknowledgement, hand tightening in his hair, arm going around his back and pulling him close. His lips were still hot and moist on Tony’s, especially in contrast with the cool dry beard everywhere else, and his tongue playfully licked between Tony’s lips, tickling him.

With his arms around Loki, Tony could feel his chest expand and contract again with every breath he took, could anticipate the puff of air on his cheek before he felt it. He felt Loki’s heartbeat — fast, but not racing, not yet — and wondered if Loki could feel his own. The notion that maybe Loki could made him groan, and he slid his lips over Loki’s gently, reveling in the sensation of the soft, plump lips giving way easily under his.

The hands on his body began roaming it as they continued sucking face, stroking his back and sides and chest and ass, and Tony matched them touch for touch. Loki tugged on his t-shirt; Tony moved back so it could be pulled off, and then pushed Loki’s shirt off his shoulders, leaving them both naked from the waist up.

“This is new,” Loki murmured in the middle of nuzzling Tony’s cheek, delineating the scar on Tony’s chest with two fingertips. “What happened to the ‘pacemaker’?” He cupped Tony’s pecs and pinched his nipples, rolling them in his fingers.

Tony ‘hn’ed, his chest jutting out to invite more of that treatment. “Got rid of it,” he grinned, tilting his head to the side and guiding Loki’s mouth to his neck. “I got over some stuff. Tell you another day.” He ran his hand over Loki’s almost bald head, enjoying the sensation of Loki’s short, bristly hair in the palm of his hand.

Loki’s mouth became insistent and pushy, tilting him sideways, and he went with it until he was on his side, Loki still nibbling and sucking on his neck. His hand, the one not attached to the arm curled around Tony’s neck and being used as a pillow, now caressed his abs heatedly and came to rest on the front of Tony’s pants.

Letting go of Loki’s warm waist, Tony pushed that hand harder onto his re-awakening cock, his hips moving up into the touch as well. He groaned sweetly, prompting Loki to kiss him on the mouth again, tongues sliding together as Loki’s hand tightened on his bulge. He sucked on Loki’s tongue as he undid and pulled down his pants far enough for his dick to pop out again, and bit it when Loki kept stroking him, his hand searing hot.

But just as he was getting into the slow rhythm of thrusting into it, Loki let him go and continued the tugging down. He had to stop kissing Tony when the pants and underwear reached under mid-thigh, and he sat up to pull them the rest of the way off. His hands warmed Tony’s cold calves and feet as he held them gently to get them out from inside the jeans, and then they played with Tony’s toes until they were as pink and warm as his face.

Tony let him do it, enjoying the treatment. If he hadn’t already slept with Loki twice — okay, _technically_ thrice, he would have found the intimacy off-putting. But he found himself welcoming it — reveling in it, even, after his nameless one-night stand in the onsen and after his brief but fiery fling with Rumiko. He wiggled his toes to get Loki’s attention.

It worked.

He made a come-hither gesture with one finger — and, really, his eyebrows said it all.

Loki rolled his eyes and kissed the bridges of Tony’s feet before crawling over to straddle one of Tony’s legs and rest his chin on Tony’s chest. “Yes, Dear?” he asked pleasantly, voice light and airy — _happy_ , even.

Tony raised his head and kissed him on the tip of his long nose. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to grope you.” That said, he grabbed Loki’s ass over the fabric of the khakis and massaged the globes. “Mmm, nice. Much better than the last time.” Holding Loki’s eyes, he playfully slapped one buttock, making it jiggle.

Loki’s eyes nearly closed in mirth, the lines at the corners deeper than ever. “I take it you don’t object to my having got fat?” he teased, grinning, and dipped his face to brush his lips on Tony’s clavicle.

“Nope,” Tony replied, enjoying Loki’s weight on him. “Feels like a real ass now.” He dug his fingers into Loki’s welcoming flesh anew with a soft ‘ _rawr!’_.

Loki muffled his snickers in Tony’s pectoral muscle, his shoulders shaking slightly. His tongue darted out to give a small kitten lick to Tony’s skin. “Wouldn’t you feel it better without my pants in the way?” he enquired, still grinning.

“Great idea!” Tony leaned up and pecked him on the lips, hands now snaking into Loki’s waistband and pushing the last of their combined clothing down his thick, toned legs. Huh, apparently it wasn’t all fat, after all. He used his free leg to continue pushing down the cloth, his bare foot stroking Loki’s calf in a move vaguely reminiscent of tango.

Tony made the mental note to ask Loki for a dance as soon as he could. And then gasped.

While he was busy enjoying his mental image, Loki’d started kissing down Tony’s chest, and he was currently biting a nipple.

Tony’s hand instantly flew up to press Loki’s head closer, and the man obliged easily enough, closing his hot, hot lips in a circle around it and sucking hard. He arched his back into the sensation, his other hand slapping the futon and making a fist in the sheets. “Fuuuck, Loki,” he groaned appreciatively.

With Tony’s nipple still vacuumed into his mouth, Loki began flicking his tongue at the pebbled tip, alternating licks and nibbles with the pressure. He hummed, pleased, his hand stroking Tony’s abdomen and side eagerly, and a smirk curled the corner of his lips, breaking the suction.

Tony’s back finally touched the sheets again, and he panted, his face covered in sweat. “Holy fuck,” he murmured, tossing an arm over his eyes and laughing. “Can’t wait until you suck my dick.” He patted Loki’s head and neck, congratulating a job well done. “But don’t let me cum. I _do_ wanna ride you.”

Loki rubbed his beard all over Tony’s abs and solar plexus. “Whoever said I was going to suck you off?” he challenged, eyebrow raised and everything. “I still haven’t forgotten the last time I got on my knees for you.” His eyes went hard. “You tattled on me.”

Wincing, Tony removed his hand from Loki’s person, letting it drop down to the futon, palm up. “I said I was sorry. And I meant it, okay?” He looked up at Loki earnestly. “I’m not going to tell anyone I saw you. As far as I’m concerned, you paid for your crime already.”

Loki regarded him mutely for a long moment, until Tony started blushing and wondering if he’d said the wrong thing. At last, he smiled at Tony and kissed his belly button, his beard tickling Tony’s lower belly. The kiss ended and became another, lower down, and another one, and another.

The beard, soft and fluffy and dry, felt _amazing_ on Tony’s hard dick, especially when followed up with the pinpoints of heat that were Loki’s soft kisses. The space between pecks became shorter and shorter as they approached the cockhead; the last kiss was given right to the slit, making Tony writhe.

And then Loki, the _fucking tease_ , pushed himself up on his hands and rolled over ‘til he was flat on his back next to Tony.

Tony could have cried. “Aww, you fucker,” he complained laughingly, grabbing his cock to try to stop the tingling caused by the contrast between Loki’s soft warm lips and his beard. “Just for that, you get to fetch the condom.” He poked Loki hard in the middle of the chest.

Loki shrugged. “If you don’t mind me going through your stuff, sure.” He grabbed Tony’s hand, kissed the knuckles, and sat up. “In your wardrobe?” he asked, pointing at the huge sliding doors taking up a whole wall.

“Yup,” Tony answered happily, crossing his legs, his hard cock bobbing in the hollow. “Door on the right, top shelf, with my underwear.”

Loki stood, unashamed of his nakedness despite how insecure he’d acted when Tony had accused him of being fat, and walked over to the far door. While Tony watched the line of his body greedily, he slid it open and rummaged around Tony’s boxers and socks, and exclaimed a soft “Aha!” when he found them. There were several kinds, so he held them up to Tony in a fan over his shoulder, as if asking him to pick a card.

“Silver package,” Tony said, enjoying the play of Loki’s back muscles under his skin.

Separating the chosen one and tossing it to Tony, who caught it easily in both hands, Loki put everything back how he’d found it, slid the door shut, and strutted back towards the futon. His dick swung from side to side. No man could avoid the sideways wiggle, and there was simply no way to look hot instead of ridiculous while walking with an erection.

It made Tony chuckle heartily as he tore open the foil packet. Then he decided they didn’t need the condom right away, as they’d probably play a bit beforehand, and put it aside. “Come here,” he smiled, moving to the edge and patting the spot in the middle of the futon.

Loki returned the grin and kissed the top of his head, fingers lingering on Tony’s shoulders as he plopped down and laid back. He patted his hip, as if inviting Tony to hop on, and then froze. “Shit.” He dropped his head down on the pillow, clenched his eyes shut, and groaned. “Shiiit. Forgot the oil.”

Tony laughed, reaching out to pet Loki’s dick. “Don’t worry, you put enough of that stuff inside me that I’ll still be shitting it out a week from now.” He winked, his hand curled around the shaft. Holding it vertically, he began pumping it.

The foreskin glided up and down easily, not that Tony had expected any different, and Loki sighed in contentment. “As long as you’re sure. Mmm, that’s good.” He shifted slightly into the touch and pushed the pillow away from under his head.

Tony made his grip tighter, and left it until the cockhead’s color darkened before letting it go. Loki’s cock leaked, the head glistening, and he leaned down to clean it with his tongue. The taste wasn’t particularly nice, but the way Loki moved under him, his stomach muscles tightening and loosening again, made him wanna do it again.

As Tony’s lips closed around the head, Loki groaned and buried his hand in Tony’s hair, scratching encouragingly. “Mm, remember when you first sucked me off?” he murmured, stroking the nape of Tony’s neck with his pinky. “That was hot.”

Yeah, sure he remembered. As if he could forget the feeling of Loki’s tongue on his fingers, using them as some kind of voodoo doll to direct Tony’s actions on his dick. He let the slick cockhead fall from his lips to look up at Loki and answer, “You were such a control freak back then,” before running his parted lips down the side of the shaft until he was kissing pubic hair. Huh, it seemed Loki had gone completely native.  “But yeah, it was hot.” He nuzzled the bristly bush, inhaling Loki’s smell until he felt like his lungs would explode.

Loki stroked his shoulders and neck, chuckling. “What can I say? You were born to obey me.” He let go to take his dick from Tony’s hand and hold it up to his stomach, exposing his balls to Tony’s wandering affections. "And you were wonderful,” he sighed wistfully.

Tony stilled, open lips pressed to Loki’s left nut. He looked up, only to find that Loki had raised his head and was now looking at him, his eyes glittering green. Raising himself on his hands, he kissed a blazing trail up Loki’s cock, stomach, chest and neck, until he was hovering on all fours over him, lips so close to Loki’s that they were breathing the same air. “You mean that?” he asked seriously.

“I do,” Loki replied, hand stroking up Tony’s thigh, the other curling around his neck to pull him into a kiss. “You were perfect.” Another kiss; his hand cupped the seam between Tony’s thigh and buttock. “Both when you did exactly as I told you to,” another kiss, and a smile, eyes looking up warmly into Tony’s, “and when you let me fuck you in the shower. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Tony grinned at him, curving his back and pressing his ass into the touch. “No, Loki, thank _you_ ,” he purred, closing his eyes and kissing Loki, this time more deeply and with a hint of tongue. “You took good care of me.” And wasn’t that an understatement? Tony had been left craving another cock in his ass for months, Loki had been so good.

Loki’s eyes were so dark they swallowed all the light. “You are welcome,” he murmured, the hand on Tony’s ass creeping up to his lower back and pressed down, hinting that he should sit. “Gonna take care of me now?” he asked challengingly.

Tony licked his lips and nodded. “Sure thing, just lemme get your raincoat on.” Holding Loki’s gaze, he straightened, still astride his thighs, and fetched the open foil from where he’d put it. He took the polyurethane condom out, reached behind himself with both hands, and found Loki’s erection. “It’s a real pity we have to use these things,” he lamented, holding the cock up and rolling the condom down onto it.

Loki took over the holding so Tony could rest his weight on his hands, and kept his cock in an upright position as Tony lowered his ass onto it. The head felt huge and blunt on his asshole, and suddenly sitting down on it seemed a _terrible_ idea.

“Um,” Tony said awkwardly, eyes slightly wide.

Instead of getting mad, like Tony had expected, Loki merely smiled patiently up at him. “Second thoughts?” he asked, rubbing Tony’s thigh comfortingly.

Tony winced. “I think I closed up.” He ducked his head, glaring past his heavy, hanging cock to the asshole he couldn’t see. “I thought I’d be still nice and open from before,” he muttered. He really had been, too, but apparently his asshole had its own ideas.

Loki dropped his cock and patted Tony’s ass. “It happens. Sphincters are meant to close up when left unattended.” His fingers dipped into Tony’s crack, stroking up and down alongside it. “Want me to—?”

“Yes, please,” Tony interrupted, nodding. He leaned down and kissed Loki’s bearded jaw, relieved. “I’m sorry.”

Loki chuckled. “It’s not like it’s a chore, Tony.” His dry fingertip circled the pebbled-up ring of muscle — which was still covered in olive oil, as Tony had so charmingly explained — gently, getting it used to his touch. “Just relax.”

Tony sighed and dropped down onto Loki, face buried in Loki’s neck. “Maybe it just wanted a nice fingering,” he suggested, breathless at the little coaxing taps Loki was giving his hole. “You are excellent at those, too.” He grinned and nibbled on Loki’s skin.

He felt more than heard Loki’s answering chuckle, chest shaking under his, the throat vibrating under his face. “Why, thank you,” Loki purred, the tip of his index finger pushing into the now slightly open pucker. It closed instantly around it, and Loki wiggled his finger, tickling Tony’s insides.

Tony’s whole body shivered, and he let out a tiny little moan that would not have been out of place in a hentai anime. His face went hot with shame. He hoped Loki wouldn’t comment on it.

But this was Loki he was talking about. “What was _that_?” he laughed, patting Tony’s shoulder blade. “I never knew a grown man could make such an _adorable_ sound.” He kissed Tony’s burning cheek, obviously still smiling.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Tony whispered, too embarrassed to speak any higher. It didn’t help that Loki’s finger had wormed its way deeper inside him, firing every single sensory neuron in the area in the most pleasant of ways. “Gimme another.”

Loki scoffed, his breath fanning over Tony’s arm. “Another? Not yet. Look.” He began pulling out his finger, except Tony’s body clamped down on it and held on tight. “I can’t even move this one comfortably.” He stroked Tony’s spine. “Give yourself a moment. We’re not in a hurry.”

Tony would have pouted, except Loki was right. Maybe that was the difference? The first time Loki had fucked him, he’d fingered Tony until his ass felt like it’d never close again; in contrast, his first ever man, all those years ago in college, had only lubed him and stretched him forcefully. None of this gentle, luxurious coaxing. “Okay,” he sighed, deflating. Then he turned his head so he could look at Loki’s face. “Can we kiss? I get bored easily.”

For all answer, Loki turned his head sideways and closed his mouth over Tony’s. It worked like a charm; Tony melted into him, sucking on his lower lip, and relaxed enough that Loki’s finger could be worked in and out with relative ease.

When he felt a second fingertip at his asshole, Tony groaned and sucked on Loki’s tongue, eager for it, but it didn’t come inside. Instead, it teased the rim in gentle pokes, alternating that with pinching it between it and the other finger, digging a blunt fingernail into the pucker, and threatening to push inside.

Loki’s arm was still cradling Tony’s head as they kissed, keeping him warm and making him feel ridiculously cherished as he slid the second finger inside as well. He swallowed Tony’s soft moan and pulled back to look at him. “You don’t look bored,” he observed, smirking.

Tony had no idea what he looked like. His lips were probably cherry-red and glistening, his pupils dilated so much his eyes would look black, if he shared any of Loki’s tells.  Hair messy beyond help, beard-burn along his flushed cheeks, lips parted as he panted for breath.

Smirking, Loki nailed his prostate with a sharp shove and a curl of his fingers.

Tony keened, letting his eyes fall shut. “Definitely not bored,” he agreed, pushing back into Loki’s hand instinctively. “More please.” It wasn’t begging, he told himself, not really. It was more like… politely giving Loki permission to do what he’d wanted to do all along.

“More what?” Loki asked, his smirk turning sly. The palm of his hand, resting comfortably at the start of Tony’s crack, groped the firm muscle there. “Do you want me to go faster? A third finger, maybe?” He stroked Tony’s back  couple times. “I need you to tell me.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony shook his head. “I mean, I think I’m ready again. Loosey-goosey. For real.” But he wouldn’t refuse a thorough fingering.

Loki still had to check, spreading his fingers inside Tony to test his rim’s give. He was apparently satisfied, because he gave Tony a tiny smile and pulled his fingers out. Tony made to get up, to resume his previous position, but Loki stopped him. “Stay where you are for a moment.”

“Uh… Okay,” Tony allowed, not entirely sure what was going on.

Loki’s hand reaching around Tony’s thigh. Tony could only feel his wrist under his ass for a moment as he — rummaged? Then, the next thing he felt, was a hot, blunt object pressing against his asshole.

“Wha?” he yelped, surprised, and turned to look over his shoulder. He couldn’t actually see, but he thought Loki might be holding his dick up against his hole. He caught on at once and looked back down at Loki, who looked very pleased with himself. Smug bastard. Tony pecked him on the lips and then shuffled south on Loki’s body, slowly impaling himself on the cock.

Loki let out a soft, drawn out moan, and thrust up, burying his dick to the hilt. His eyes were glassy as he held Tony’s thighs down and rocked his hips up a few times, making sure the lube and the stretching were enough. “Good?”

“Yeah.” This wasn’t exactly ‘riding’, but Tony wasn’t about to complain. Loki’s dick curved in just the right way to poke his prostate in every pass, and his own dick, sandwiched between him and Loki’s rippling belly, certainly wasn’t neglected. He just rested his weight on his hands on either side of Loki’s shoulders, now hovering over him, and arched his back.

The cock inside him felt really good, and he bent his waist back a forth a couple times, rubbing himself on it. He bit his lips as he fucked himself on Loki’s cock faster and faster, Loki’s hands stroking his sides and chest, paying particular attention to his nipples. Damn, it felt _great_. He let out a soft hiss of pleasure.

Loki patted his working thighs and bucking hips, the faint smile still on his face. “I wish you could see yourself,” he murmured, eyes watching Tony’s bobbing dick, or maybe the spot where his own dick disappeared into Tony.

Preening, Tony sat up straighter, kneeling astride Loki’s hips. “I take it you like what you see?” he teased, stroking his chest and stomach sensually.

“Mmmhmm,” Loki nodded, eyes half-lidded, “very much so.”

Wondering how actually riding someone felt, Tony began lifting himself on his knees before letting his body drop down. The reward was immediate: cock on prostate, hard, the sound of skin slapping skin, and two moans of variable volume.

Tony picked himself up and did it again, and again, finding a pace that worked. He bounced on Loki’s dick, resting his hands on Loki’s stomach for balance, and Loki met his falls with thrusts of his hips, making it even better.

Loki rubbed his thighs and cock, gripping one of his wrists with the other hand, his eyes fluttering shut. “Y-you’re gonna tire soon,” he panted, hand flat over Tony’s ribs.

And yeah, Tony knew what he meant. His thighs had started burning a few bounces back, and the burn had only intensified since, to the point where he couldn’t concentrate on the pleasure. Also, he was already sweating, which _yuck_. He stopped, letting Loki’s cock fill him to the brim. “Too late,” he said apologetically, still rocking his hips in circles but otherwise not moving. How had the girls who’d ridden him done it?

Loki sat up and put a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. He kissed Tony slowly, his other hand pressing into Tony’s lower back and directing his movements. “Lean back,” he murmured, pushing forward until Tony overbalanced and had no choice but to catch himself, one hand landing Loki’s thigh, the other on the futon.

Oh, right. Tony quickly rearranged himself so that he had both hands on either of Loki’s thighs, and moved his legs so that he was no longer kneeling. Instead, his soles were firmly planted on the futon, about half a foot from Loki’s waist on either side, his legs curled up like a cricket’s. “Think I got it,” he told Loki, and flexed his gluts experimentally.

It worked amazingly, lifting his ass off Loki by about three inches. The angle was ever better: Loki’s dick curved towards his stomach, and it was now pressing into Tony’s front inner wall with a vengeance.

Loki helped him guide his ass on the downstroke a few times until he got the hang of it, and then plopped himself back down, holding onto Tony’s ankles, letting him work.

And work he did. Holding himself up by hands and feet, all he had to do was contract his ass and maybe his abs to get the maximum pleasure. Sure, he was fighting gravity the whole time, but then Loki started pumping his cock in time with the thrusts and Tony was golden. He didn’t care about the sweat collecting in his clavicles, or about what sight he might present to Loki — undulating wantonly on his cock, flushed and out of breath.

He still had to take a break or two here and there, when the burn in his muscles got too strong.  But Loki was always there for kissing and taking over the thrusting for a moment, his arms curling welcomingly around Tony’s sweaty back.

Around the third break, by which Tony had decided that Loki’s blissful expression was _not_ worth the workout, he couldn’t get his body to cooperate. And it was a pity, because he’d been so close to coming when he’d had to stop. He really needed to add more squats to his workout routine.

“Hey, Lokes,” he said, patting Loki’s stomach. “I’m out. Can you take over?”

“Sure.” Loki, who’d barely done any work this time around, sat up. He changed his position so he was cross-legged, Tony’s weight in the hollow between his legs. He curled his arms protectively around his lover's back and head, and pushed him backwards into a roll.

The movement made his dick fall out, but Tony fixed it easily by reaching behind his thigh, grabbing it, and pointing it in the right direction. It slid in easily, olive oil apparently a miracle lube, and Tony sighed contentedly. “Come on, stud, give me all you’ve got.” He wagged his eyebrows at Loki.

Loki’s eyes narrowed at the challenge, and he leaned forward on his hands. Tony was still sitting on his lap, hoisted up his thighs, and all he had to do was pull back and snap his hips forward to nail Tony’s prostate and make him howl.

Tony’s legs went around Loki’s waist automatically, spreading as far apart as they’d go to give Loki more room. He have Loki a little nod of permission, letting him know it was okay to be rough, holding his eyes the entire time.

Not needing to be told twice, Loki fucked him in earnest, hard and fast and so rough that Tony was grateful they weren’t on a bed with springs on a frame that would knock on the wall.

Mindless with pleasure, Tony grabbed under Loki’s ass and then, changing his mind, held onto his wrists. The thrusts were so forceful that they knocked the breath out of him each time, until he was moaning continuously, punctuated only by them.

The thrusts got even rougher, and Tony reached down to tug at his cock, biting his lip hard to try to muffle his moans. It didn’t work, especially when Loki dropped onto his elbows, the angle becoming even better; he was moaning right in Loki’s beard, which hovered about two inches over his face.

Then Loki was kissing him, all hot hungry lips, and Tony’s breath caught in his throat. He came hard, splattering hot jizz all over his stomach and Loki’s chest, and the cock pounding into him only made the high harder and longer.

Loki buried his face in Tony’s shoulder and carried on thrusting. It didn’t take long before he, too, went quiet and still, before snapping his hips forward and letting out a loud groan that ended in a hiss. Tony stroked his back through it all, eyes unwilling to part with the sight of Loki’s reddening, screwed-up face, veins popping in his temples.

With the addition of the Viking beard, he looked fearsome, like a biker with a whole bike gang at his back, about to beat up someone with a spike-studded baseball bat.

And it was all Tony’s doing. All his.

 _Damn_.

When Loki came back down to Earth, he lifted his head and offered Tony a goofy grin. Tony couldn’t help but return it, before hugging close and kissing him breathless all over again.

And then he yawned.

Loki chuckled, before yawning back at him. He got up on one hand and pulled out, holding onto the condom with the other, which he then tied and tossed into a corner. By the time he was done, he found Tony had retrieved the pillow and was lying down already, so he got onto his side, holding his head up with his hand, and got the cover over them.

Tony smiled at him through blinking eyes and turned into his side as well, facing him. “Good fuck,” he murmured.

Loki’s eyes focused on Tony’s hand lying between them, limp and slightly curled, and he covered it with his. “Yeah,” he agreed, shifting his grip so their palms were touching, fingers entwined, “good fuck. I guess you do keep your promises.”

His eyes were so warm…

Tony fell asleep with that last image in his mind’s eye.

* * *

Tony woke up alone. It wasn’t wholly unexpected, but he was still disappointed.

Last night, sex with Loki had been _incredible_ … He remembered the way Loki had looked up at him, like he couldn’t quite believe Tony was there, riding him. Remembered how beautiful he’d looked when he came, face flushed and scrunched up as his breath hitched. How warmly he’d caught Tony’s eyes and held his hand after he’d rolled off him.

Tony remembered how sated he’d been, and not just physically. Remembered how his chest had felt like it was bursting…

He sat up in the futon, eyes wide.

He and Loki hadn’t just had sex. Last night wasn’t merely two grown adults giving each other orgasms. _They’d made love._

Holy shit. He loved Loki.

How? _Why?_ Why could he never love someone _safe_? First Pepper with her unconscious mind-fuckery, then Rumiko with her late-onset adolescent rebellion, and now _Loki_ , of all people? Oh, Tony was sooo fucked up.

He buried his face in his hands and tried to calm his breathing. Then a thought crossed his mind, and he flinched. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. He was _not_ going to talk with Loki and somehow convince him to leave his wife and come live with Tony. Because hell if Tony was going to give in to some stupid self-manufactured mind-altering chemicals in his brain for someone as inconvenient as Loki.

No matter how much his throat tightened at the thought of never seeing him again.

He’d just have to get over it. It wasn’t like being in a relationship was the ultimate prize of being alive, the be all and end all of existing — Tony could think of at least five better feelings off the top of his head. Honest.

Sighing, he got up and showered. He kept smacking his forehead at odd intervals for the duration, half because he couldn’t believe his biology was so stupid, and half to see if a good hit could dislodged the silly notion that maybe a relationship with Loki was worth it.

Who wanted Loki to stick around, right? Who wanted his weird sense of humor, his oddly keen eyes, his carefree laughter, his solemn silences, or his crooked smirk? Not Tony.

Fuck.

Punching the wall — maybe he could train his brain not to think of Loki if he punished it each time? — and exhaling deeply, Tony got out of the shower. Before getting dressed, he decided, he ought to look himself in the mirror to see what the damage was.

There was only one medium-sized hickey on his neck and a small bruise on his chin. The bruises on his hips, from where Loki had gripped him to fuck him from behind, and the friction burns in his knees, he could easily conceal by getting dressed.

Not too bad.  

He got some clothes on, trying not to check himself out too many times in the mirror. He didn’t actually care if Loki might like his look or not; in fact, he was hoping not to see him at all today.

* * *

Tony did manage not to cross paths with Loki that day or the next few, though not because he was trying. Sure, he went out during the day or stayed holed up in his room pondering the meaning of life, but he’d been doing that already. He wasn’t going out of his way to avoid Loki, mainly because he didn’t want to get caught doing it, as it would reveal there _was_ something bothering him.

But he needn’t have bothered at all. Loki was avoiding _him_.

Which rankled a bit, because who did Loki think he was? Cheating on his wife with Tony and then going about his life like nothing was amiss? Like Tony was just a convenient hole to fuck? Making Tony reevaluate his life choices only to simply vanish?

The _fucker._

Tony did, however, cross paths with The Wife, one breakfast morning. And because the universe _hated_ him, that was also the first time he saw Rumiko since the accident.

As if having been born Howard Stark’s son hadn’t been enough bad luck to last him a life time.

Tony froze upon spotting them, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he calculated furiously which course of action held the least possibility of pain. Should he go in? ‘ _Nope_ ,’ he decided. He’d rather die of inanition than spent any amount of time alone in the same room with his toxic fling and the wife of the man he’d had sex with and avoided ever since. Silently, he turned around—

“Mr. Stark,” Mai called, “won’t you be joining us for breakfast?”

He flinched violently, cursing internally, and turned back around, plastering his best emergency smile on his face. “Osawa-san, Rumiko-chan,” he greeted them, voice positively dripping with forced enthusiasm

Rumiko grinned and waved at him cheerfully. “Come sit here!” She patted the spot next to her on the table. “The pancakes are _really_ good,” she commented, pointing at a platter of pancakes piled so high they were almost toppling over. “I think Asada-san is finally getting the hang of them.”

The cook, Asada-san, had been cooking them exclusively for Tony, who hated the soup-and-fish morning fare of the traditionally-inclined Japanese. The first time, they’d come out sloppy, raw in the center and burned on one side, and Asada-san had been striving to perfect them ever since.

Grateful for this small mercy, Tony took his seat right next to Rumiko. “Really?” he asked, grabbing a pile of doughy, perfectly golden units from the pile and moving them onto his plate, instead of snatching a bite from Rumiko’s plate. He tried one, and yeah, it was _good_. “Mmmhmmm,” he moaned appreciatively.

Mai glared at him from across the table.

It gave Tony palpitations. His breath caught. The half-swallowed pancake paste got stuck in his throat, cutting his airway, but he couldn’t cough — or indeed move at all — under Osawa-san’s sharp eyes.

She must have seen the way he paled and went bug-eyed, because she shook herself, muttered some excuse to Rumiko, and left hurriedly.

Tony had barely managed to finish swallowing and start breathing again when Rumiko leaned over and murmured with complicity, “So, I heard you fucked Mai-chan’s husband?” Her eyebrows wagged. “Nice.”

He choked all over again, and Rumiko had to slap his back as she laughed.

“How did you know?” Tony asked when he could speak without his voice breaking too much.

She shrugged. “Oh, Mai-chan told me.”

Tony’s jaw dropped.

“Apparently,” Rumiko continued, looking for all the world like she was discussing a racehorse instead of her servant’s rumor mill, “Osawa-san told _her_ in the first place.” She cut off a piece of pancake and speared it on her fork.

This was where Tony’s brain officially gave up.

But Rumiko was not done. “So,” she said casually, waving the fork around, “I guess we need to talk.”

* * *

Tony walked out of that kitchen about two hours later, stomach full and mind abuzz. He now knew three things.

One, that Rumiko was worth a million times more than Tony had fist valued her, if she was already this mature about her relationships at twenty-five. Two, that Loki had decided to stay with his wife rather than pursue whatever it was he and Tony had.

It was painful. Not only had Tony almost got Rumiko killed — which was actually why she was officially breaking up with him: their relationship was based on rebellion, and that was toxic — but he’d also cheated on her the first chance he got. And though she had no idea, he’d done it _with Loki_.

Tony had cheated on this wonderful woman for a guy who had led an alien invasion of Earth, killed one of his friends. Granted, he was a great lay, but for all the inexplicable affection and possession Tony felt towards him, they’d only ever seen each other like five times in four years. And Loki had dropped Tony like a hot potato the second something better came along.

He’d lost his chance at Rumiko for what amounted to a selfish booty-call.

And his only regret was that he didn’t regret it.

He didn’t regret kissing Loki until he gave up his aversion to intimacy. Didn’t regret having had sex with him while fully conscious of whom he was fucking. He’d throw his next relationship down the drain willingly if it meant buying Loki’s affections for one more night.

Because his heart still clenched when he remembered the naked feeling, the wonder and admiration and — dare he think it? — _love_ plain as day on Loki’s face as Tony rode him. It clenched when he remembered Rumiko’s careless words (“Mai-chan told Piotr she’d forgive him if he didn’t speak or even look at you ever again.”) and knew that Loki had chosen his arranged marriage and the stability it afforded him over trying for something _real_ with Tony.

The third thing Tony knew, upon leaving his talk with Rumiko, was that he needed to get away from Japan before his stupid, irrational limerence snowballed into full-blown unrequited love.

* * *

Tony scheduled an appointment with Fujikawa for the following day, and that only because he didn’t think the magnate would enjoy it if he dropped in unannounced through the window. But it was a close one.

He stayed in until then, going over his sales pitch over and over and over again, tweaking phrases here and there, making the graphs prettier and then minimalistic again, making sure his suit and his best shirt were clean and pressed, and generally perfecting _everything_ to persuade Fujikawa-san to go with Pepper’s deal. He could only hope that the guy could put business over everything else, and set aside his personal opinions of Tony long enough to see the lucrative deal hiding underneath his roguishly handsome face.

When the time came, Tony got into the Iron Man armor, as traffic in Tokyo at that hour was a nightmare, and  took off. He showed up at Fujikawa’s office, early, combed, and in his good suit. He wasn’t ‘Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist’, he was ‘Tony Stark, business magnate extraordinaire’.

Fujikawa, in a petty show of power Tony completely understood, left him waiting nearly thirty minutes in the lobby. When he called Tony in, it wasn’t to talk in his office, in private.

No. He’d arranged it so Tony would give his presentation to the whole board of directors, in the conference room. And to make it worse: Rumiko was there.

She was all dolled up in an expensive white suit, her hair up, her jewelry minimal and tasteful, her lipstick red. She wasn’t just _dressed up as_ the heiress of Fujikawa Industries, come to the conference so her father could show her off — no, she looked _lethal_. She reminded Tony so much of Pepper at her fiercest that it _hurt_.

But Tony swallowed and grinned, making sure not to stare at her too long or single her out. This — the blank stares coming from poker faces, giving nothing away, having to be on the ball at all times — was an old hat to him, nothing if not comfortable to the man who had taken over his father’s multi-million-dollar corporation when he turned twenty one and turned it into a multi-billion-dollar one in less than five years.

Five minutes into the sales pitch (again in pitch-perfect Japanese) and Tony already knew which of the directors would buy it. It was heartening to see the way  Fujikawa’s right hand man had perked up, his eyes glittering excitedly, or the way the woman all the way at the end of the table (Tony had no idea what she was in charge of) was gaping a bit, like she’d forgotten how to breathe.

As soon as he finished, they began asking questions, and he answered them easily, like he was the Babe Ruth of questions. Even Fujikawa looked impressed despite himself, and Rumiko’s smile had overpowered her princess-like self-control.

Tony’s ego had been bruised badly these last two weeks, but this right here? Having the top executives of Japan’s foremost technological firm hanging onto his every word? This was good. ‘ _Yep, still got it,_ ’ he thought, fighting the urge to sit back and smirk.

When he’d said anything that could be said about the proposal, they politely sent him out so they could discuss stuff and told him they’d call him.

Tony knew they would accept; the only question now was whether they’d try to get more benefits out of the deal or if they’d be satisfied.

“I’ll walk you out,” Rumiko offered, coming after him.

Surprised, Tony offered her his elbow in a gentlemanly gesture. “I’ll be delighted.”

She took his arms, the coral nail polish looking very feminine against the dark fabric of his suit. “That was very impressive, by the way,” she commented as they walked to the elevator. “Even Mai-chan thought so.”

Tony jumped. “She is here?” He could already feel sweat gathering on his palms. He hadn’t seen her.

Rumiko giggled and opened her mouth to answer, “Of course, she—“

The building shook violently, sending them to the ground.

Tony found himself lying on Rumiko, his face pressed against her left boob, but this wasn’t a moment to be feeling awkward. He picked himself up and crouched over her. “Was that an earthquake?”

Eyes wide, she didn’t answer. Her face was so pale that she looked like a porcelain doll. The only color on her face, her red lipstick, looked horrifyingly artificial.

“Rumiko?” Tony asked, grabbing her shoulder, worried. Where in all hell was Mai? Why wasn’t she coming to see them to safety?

“G-god—“ Rumiko’s voice got strangled, and Tony couldn’t hear whatever she said next. She lifted a shaky hand under Tony’s arm and pointed to the window behind him, her eyes bugging out even more.

Tony realized that the hallway was dark… as if something was obstructing the window. Filled with sudden dread, he turned around.

There was a huge yellow eye peering inside, the skin around it green and scaly. It blinked, a huge slimy membrane closing from the inner corner outward, and then retreating again, leaving lines of slime connecting it to the outer corner. The slitted pupil shrunk, and then came a huge, primordial roar that made the reinforced glass of the windows rattle.

Tony’s blood froze in his veins.

Rumiko flinched and scuttled backwards, not stopping until he was curled into a ball behind a potted plant.

It startled Tony into movement. He knelt on the floor in front of her. “Rumiko, look at me,” he said commandingly, grabbing her shoulders. “What is that thing?”

She shook. “Go—Gojira,” she stammered, as if it cleared anything up. She was shaking like a leaf.

The building gave a huge shudder that made the foundations moan and creak. The ceiling cracked, and dust showered on them.

Fuck. Tony needed to get the suit. But he couldn’t leave Rumiko here to fend for herself. She was a business shark, not a superhero, and definitely not indestructible. In fact, right that moment, she looked like she was five and she desperately needed someone to wake her from a nightmare.

Where the fuck was Mai?

“Rumiko?!” It was Fujikawa. He sounded painfully worried, like he thought she was already dead.

Tony looked over his shoulder and saw him coming towards them.  “I got her!” he shouted. “Stay there, I’ll get her to you!” He looked up.

The eye was gone from the window.

Somehow, that didn’t comfort Tony. He cupped Rumiko’s face roughly and forced her to look at him. “Rumiko,” he said sternly, “get up. Let’s get you out of here.”

It took a few heartbeats for her eyes to focus, but then she nodded. “There’s a helicopter on the roof,” she whispered, the panic obvious in her voice. But at least she’d put herself together again.

‘ _That’s my brave girl_ ,’ Tony thought proudly. “Good idea.” They were some fifty floors up; climbing to floors was way better than taking the stairs down. And the elevator was out of the question — that giant lizard was big enough to topple the building.

Wait a minute. Gojira. Gojira. Why did that ring a bell—?

Oh, _fuck_.

 _Godzilla_.

Now that Tony finally understood the true scope of the situation, his heart raced. If he couldn’t get to the Suit, they were _fucked._ It was downstairs, at ground level. ‘ _One thing at a time, Tony,_ ’ he told himself. ’ _First, Rumiko._ ’ Swallowing, he stood up, Rumiko’s hand in his, and pulled her towards the conference room.

Godzilla — yes, fucking _Godzilla_ , of _all_ the improbable things, he still couldn’t believe it — did something again. The building shook some more, sending Tony and Rumiko into the wall.

The ceiling crumbled and rained down on them, and Tony automatically covered her with his body. A piece the size of a brick struck his ribs, and he cried out in pain. It left him paralyzed for a heartbeat or two, but then he remembered that he still needed to get Rumiko and everyone to safety, so he could deal with the bruise later.

With Tony Still sheltering Rumiko, they made their way to the conference room, where Fujikawa and his associates were taking refuge under the table. Another piece of debris hit Tony, on the head this time, before he shoved her under there and followed suit.

Fujikawa pulled his daughter into a hug, his hands roaming everywhere, checking if she was alright. Then he looked up at Tony, who was fiddling with his homing bracelets. “You are bleeding, Stark-san.”

Tony paused in calling the armor and looked up uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“Bleeding,” Fujikawa repeated dumbly, tapping his own temple.

A huge chunk of ceiling hit the table with a loud boom. If this kept up, it was going to break soon. And, judging by the size of the pieces, Tony doubted there was much roof left, let alone much helicopter.

They were trapped in the top floors of a crumbling building, with nowhere to go. They had bigger troubles than a little blood.

“Don’t worry about me,” Tony said. “Look, I called my Suit.” He looked out the window. “I was going to take you all to the helicopter on the roof, but yeah.” He smiled wryly. It was kinda funny, in a hysterical way. “I’m gonna put Rumiko inside it and get her to safety.”

“Tony,” Rumiko said, muffled by her father’s shoulder, “Tony, no.” She shook her head and spied him through the corner of her eyes.

“Rumiko, Rumiko, _yes_ ,” Tony answered teasingly, making himself grin. He was going to die, but Rumiko would be safe.

Fujikawa looked stunned. “Th—thank you,” he said. Since they were still talking in Japanese, the way he said it — ‘ _Domo arigato gozaimasu,’_ and a deep bow of his head — was specially telling. Formal, heartfelt. It sounded like Tony had just made a friend for life.

 _'Too bad ‘life’ is going to last only like five more minutes,_ ' he thought dryly.

The building started lilting to the side. It was expected, what with all the structural damage the giant dino lizard had caused, but it still stopped Tony’s train of thought at I’m-Gonna-Die Station.

A loud _bam!_ startled them into looking up.

There, right outside the half-cracked window, was the Iron Man armor, repulsors glowing in the dust that was suspended in the air. It rammed at the reinforced glass again, _bam!_ , making the spider-web cracks deeper and larger. _Bam!_ , it went again, cleverly not using the repulsors to shoot the glass down because there were people inside, and heated glass dust did not mix well with living, breathing humans.

Finally, with one last _bam!_ and an almighty creak, the Armor managed to break the glass and get inside.

It stopped dead in its tracks, turned around, and opened up in the back like a banana peel coming unglued at the seam.

Tony was about to turn to Rumiko to usher her into the armor, when the most amazing sound in the universe filled the room.

A helicopter.

Not quite believing his ears, Tony looked up.

There it was, gorgeously gleaming in the sun, the spinning blades blowing away the cloud of dust. The door on the side was open, and Mai was there, holding onto the railing, ponytail flailing wildly in the wind

“Fujikawa-dono!” Someone called though the loudspeaker. “Can you get on?”

This—this was _perfect._

Tony scuttled out from under the table like a cockroach and practically slammed into his armor. It closed behind him almost instantly, enveloping him it its welcoming safety, and the HUD came on.

“Sir, you appear to be bleeding,” JARVIS said for all greeting.

Tony snorted. “Yeah, hello to you too, Baby. No time for that, we need to get those people into that helicopter.” Going to the window, he put the speakers on. “I’ll get them to you!” he called, before starting to tear pieces of glass off the edges, making the hole bigger. When it was big enough he dropped out and floated right outside. Once he’d stabilized himself, he made a come-hither motion to the executives hiding under the table.

Rumiko was first, of course, because no one except herself disagreed that she was the most important. But when he was ferrying Important Person Number Three (the lady who’d liked his presentation), a giant scaly lizard hand batted him out of the air.

He managed to catch himself, precious cargo still on board, and fired at the monster hand.

Godzilla shrieked — making Tony’s bones rattle — and swatted blindly.

‘ _Whoever’s flying the helicopter deserves a medal,_ ’ Tony thought as the helicopter dodged. He managed to come close and drop the woman inside. “You concentrate on evading, I’ll get them to you,” he yelled at Mai.

Mai was busy setting up a grenade launcher, but she still took the time to give him a thumbs up.

Gorgeous women in elegant suits with big guns shouldn’t be Tony’s kink. It got him distracted in important situations; situations where he required all his concentration. “Jarvis, record everything.”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS replied, no judgment in his electronic voice.

While the helicopter flitted around like an oversized mosquito, evading the giant claws, and Mai shot grenade after grenade at the thing (once even nailing it in the eye), Tony ferried the VIPs  to the helicopter.

When he delivered Fujikawa, the last one (he would never admit he got a kick out of carrying the grown man in a princess hold), the helicopter changed patterns from “evade!” to “retreat!”, and Tony got on the offensive.

It was the first good look he took at the monster.

All he could think was, ‘ _Fuck, that thing's gotta be a Category 7, at least!_ ’

Godzilla was taller than the buildings around it, with muscles thick and bulging under the leathery skin. Its huge jaws, dripping with spit, sported sharp fanged teeth the size of Thor. Its claws, powerful and sharp, tore gashes into the concrete buildings around it. A tail big as a train swished around, sweeping cars and busses aside like they were breadcrumbs. Under its humongous talons, vehicles were crushed like stepped-on eggs, but the pointy metal didn’t seem to bother the gigantic lizard.

And its eyes, green and round and angry, were the most terrible thing of all. There was _intelligence_ there.

Tony’s stomach fluttered, and he thought he might shit himself. But he couldn’t go weak in the knees right now, not when a mutant T-Rex on steroids (seriously, how were its bones not crumbling under their own weight?) was mauling the shit out of a city of thirteen million people. So he clenched up, squared his shoulders, and launched a flurry of smart missiles into Godzilla’s eyes and nostrils.

The beast roared, its now bleeding eye focusing on Tony. Mouth and nose smoking, looking remarkably like a dragon, it swatted at Tony and sent him flying into the building where Fujikawa Industry offices were located.

But the suit was hardy, and Tony was quickly learning that, for a dinosaur, Godzilla was remarkably fast. JARVIS, hacking into the local army and police networks, learned that there were protocols for Godzilla situations (which was clever, as the monster had already attacked big cities several times over the past fifteen or twenty years) and instructed Tony on where to lead it.

So he led it.

It was very obvious he was taking it back to where it’d come from, because it was like following a trail of destruction in reverse.

It took a while, as Tony kept underestimating it and it kept throwing him into buildings. At one point, it even caught Iron Man in its vice-like grip and squeezed, denting the armor around his middle, but Tony fired the Unibeam and slipped away in the confusion.

When the harbor was finally in sight (all protocols seemed to think it was a good idea, for some reason), Tony turned his back one second to look at it and try to calculate how far away it was.

One second. That was all it took.

Next thing he knew, he was flying into the base of a crumbling building, some seven hundred feet below where he’d been. He closed his eyes, bracing for the pain that the impact was going to bring, and turned his body as best he could to avoid hitting his head.

The sheer kinetic force sent him through four walls, and he felt each wall break on his bruised (or possibly broken) ribs. The whole front of the suit was dented flat, making it hard to breathe, but he persevered and stood up from the crater of debris he’d made.

Then the building collapsed on top of him.

* * *

When he regained consciousness, Tony had no idea how much time had passed since he’d gone down. The HUD was flickering, a whole section of it completely broken into a Technicolor spider web.

He tried to move, to carve his way out from under the tons of concrete and iron and who knew what else, but he couldn’t move his legs, no matter how hard he tugged. Getting panicked, tried to lift the faceplate — and couldn’t. He couldn’t move his arms, either.

He was a man in a metal coffin of his own making.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, and regretted it instantly. The air was dusty, the suspended particles burning his lungs… Was the air filtration system offline?

Suddenly, a huge weight lifted from his chest, _literally_.

Tony blinked in the impenetrable darkness of his helmet, still coughing wetly (why did it taste like blood?), and then he felt his stomach climbing up into his throat.

Something was moving him. Something that _roared_.

Tony was quite literally shaking, possibly even crying. He was in the hands of a mutant prehistoric creature with the power to crush him like an empty beer can, and he was completely powerless to do anything about it, not even flail his arms to punch Godzilla’s fingers. He couldn’t even _see_. Iron “Man”? Ha! More like iron _maiden_. All that was missing were the nails covering the inner walls — but it sure didn’t _feel_ like it. His chest was on fire, his head was throbbing, and all along his back he could feel white-hot knives buried in his skin.

The only thing about him that was pain free were his legs.

And he suspected that it may be, in fact, because he had no feeling there at all.

He wanted to wake up. He wished that Loki was still a god so Tony could pray to him, he was that desperate for everything to end.

But it didn’t.

Out of the blue, Godzilla dropped him. This time, blind as he was, he felt the acceleration keenly, and also the impact. He couldn’t cry in pain — his breath was knocked out and he couldn’t draw in more air, not with the way his heart felt like a furnace on full power.

He should have told Loki he loved him. Grabbed his hand and kept him and never let him run back to his wife.

Eyes streaming, he resigned himself to dying.

Then, light blinded him. A warm hand touched his face.

“Tony?” Someone was calling.

There was a dark shape in front of him, and it took Tony a while to focus his eyes enough to see it.

It was Loki, bearded and black-eyed and wearing a gray hoodie. He looked concerned.

‘ _I love you_ ,’ Tony tried to tell him, but there was no air to speak with. Then he saw something else, way in the background.

A gigantic orange _thing_ was going toe-to-toe with Godzilla. It looked like a fox, if foxes were the size of Helicarriers and had a dozen tails popping out of their asses.

Loki must have seen his eyes widening in fear, because he smiled. “That’s Mai,” he said, summery and soothing. “She’s a nine-tailed kitsune.”

What the hell was a kitsune?

Tony’s world tilted, and he realized Loki had moved him into a horizontal position and was sitting astride him.

“Let’s make you better now, yes?” he was saying as his hands gently touched Tony all over. His voice was slightly shaky, and if Tony didn’t know better, he’d say he was about to cry.

Well, it wasn’t like Tony was faring much better, with the blood dripping from his lips and the tear tracks on his face…

Suddenly, he could _breathe_ , and it was the best thing he’d ever felt. The black dots he hadn’t noticed crowding his vision vanished, and so did the ringing sound in his ears. He could now hear the devastation of the fight in full stereo HD, and yeah, those _were_ tears in Loki’s eyes.

Also. That was blood on Loki’s face. His skin and clothes, where Tony could see it, was covered in arcane-looking symbols, and, though he couldn’t turn his head to see it, he was pretty sure that those gentle touches from before? That had been Loki drawing on him with his own blood.

A spell. A healing one, too, judging by how much better Tony felt.

On top of him, Loki swayed.

“Loki?” Tony asked, worried. “Are you okay?”

Loki shrugged, and there was a bitter turn to his mouth. “Well enough. And you?” There was a dark spot in the middle of his chest that Tony hadn’t noticed before.

“Better,” Tony said. He still couldn’t move, but he could feel his legs again. Full-on pins and needles from the tip of his big toe to his navel, but it was _awesome_. He’d thought he was paralyzed from the waist down. Oh, look, it was wet down there. “Loki, Loki—I think I peed myself,” he laughed.

Loki snorted. “Shut up. And don’t say that name.” He looked pale, so much that his gorgeously golden tan looked like it had been sprayed on, and there was blood trickling down his temple. “You never know who’s listening.”

Yeah, Tony could understand that. Hell, Loki had ran to fucking _Japan_ and gotten married to keep his cover. If only he’d asked Tony… But no, it couldn’t be helped. “So. I thought you said you had no magic?” he asked, just to fill the silence.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t use it,” Loki muttered cryptically. Then he coughed, spraying flecks of blood all over Tony’s face. His eyes fell closed as he dropped sideways.

Tony did _so_ not like this.“Loki?!” he called, sitting up before he remembered he couldn’t move. But now he could, apparently. He looked down and saw the comforting glow of the suit’s reactor.

Loki had jump-started it for him. And healed him. And he looked like—like _Tony_ must have looked like, before Loki found him.

‘ _Oh, no. No, no nono._ ’ Shaking his head, Tony leaned over Loki, touched his face, gripped his pointy bearded chin in his metal fingers. “Loki!” he demanded, horrified, “did you take my injuries on yourself?!”

Loki’s eyes cracked open a sliver, and he locked gazes with Tony. “I did,” he replied, blood bubbling up in the corner of his mouth and leaking over the corner. With difficulty, he lifted an arm and cupped his helmeted face — slapped, actually, but Tony read the intention and caught his hand, holding it softly to his face. “Worth it.”

“Hang on, Loki,” Tony whispered, feeling his eyes welling up again. _Loki_ had exchanged his life for Tony’s, or something, and Tony wanted to put it back. Loki had _everything_ going for him. A job, a home, a wife who took him back, a _future._ Fuck! _Why_? He swallowed. “I’m gonna take you to a hospital.”

But Loki wasn’t listening. He merely smiled at Tony, eyes closing again, resigning to the inevitable. He gave one last bloody, tortured breath, and his hand slipped from Tony’s fingers, falling limply onto his chest.

Tony’s heart stopped. Oh no. He’d gone and done it again. Everything he touched turned to _shit_. He’d killed Loki just by worming himself under his skin. Affection for Tony’s was a cancer, growing in secret, sneaking up on people out of the blue, exploding into a terminal disease. _This_ was why he didn’t get close to people.

But before he could devolve into an all-out hysterical breakdown, Loki began _glowing._

The air actually turned golden around him, flowing upwards, his beard and loose clothes lifting in the invisible currents. The golden fire kept pulling him up and up, until he began levitating, completely enveloped in the golden haze.

Tony’s jaw dropped, and he watched, amazed, as the beard and clothes melted and vanished into the ether. Every blemish on his skin — every scar and pimple and mole — burned bright and evaporated, joining the shining mist. His head was aflaming with golden fire, the plumes growing taller and taller, coalescing into long golden threads that whipped around madly.

Loki’s eyes opened and beams of light shot out of every orifice in his head — probably out of his ass, too, except Tony couldn’t see. Slowly, he came down, his body tilting in the air so that he landed feet first. The golden cloud vanished abruptly, his shining hair becoming black, and with it went whatever mystical force had been reducing gravity’s effect on Loki.  

His knees buckled, and he collapsed on himself.

Tony scrambled to catch him, managing to hold him up before he hit the ground. “Loki, you okay?” he asked, wondering if he should lower Loki to prevent another fainting spell.

Loki, dressed only in beautifully wild and lustrous long hair that reached down to mid-thigh, caught himself on Tony’s shoulder and stood up. “I’m… I’m _well_ ,” he breathed, eyebrows high on his forehead. He took a step away from Tony, closed his eyes, made a gesture with his hands, and suddenly he was wearing jeans and a polo shirt.

They both gasped and looked at each other, understanding the implications.

Loki looked shaken, and he held onto Tony’s hands on his shoulders tightly enough to dent the gauntlets. “I’m—I’m back.” His lips attempted a wobbly smile. “I’m _back_. Haha!” The smile was more certain now, and it reached Loki’s eyes, filling them with light.

Tony couldn’t help it. He shifted one hand to the back of Loki’s head and drew him down into a toe-curling kiss. But Loki’s lips remained stiff and cold under his, and he was pretty sure the man—the _alien god_ was tense, even though he couldn’t feel it. He pulled away instantly, horrified. “Sorry,” he stammered. “Heat of the moment.”

Loki was staring at him, eyes wide. “What was _that_?” he asked, and the confusion in his voice made him sound like a five-year-old boy.

‘ _Nothing_ ,'Tony wanted to say. What came out of his mouth, instead, was, “I think I’m in love with you.” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. He winced.

Saying nothing, Loki slowly shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Tony’s face. His upper lip was slightly curled, and he leaned away.

Revulsion? Or simple disbelief? Tony wondered if his expression would be different had Tony sprouted another head instead of a love confession. “Loki—“ he started.

Loki vanished.

Leaving Tony stranded like an idiot in the middle of a collapsed building with a malfunctioning suit that pressed into his chest, and a broken heart.

* * *

The suit had been too damaged to move, so Tony had had to wait until Fujikawa's goons came to help him out of the rubble and into a car. It wasn’t a hardship; he had front row seats to the battle between Mai and Godzilla. It was a thing of beauty, and he hoped someone was filming it so he could re-watch it later, when the wonder had faded a bit.

Heh, no wonder Mai had been able to stop his heart with one glare. She was _powerful_. Off-the-scale powerful. Hell, she could hand the full team of the Avengers their asses on a silver platter with a sneeze, if they made the mistake of crossing her.

Maybe it was for the best, for Loki to stay with her, Tony tried to convince himself. He’d be safe under her protection, in case anyone — Fury came to mind — decided Loki’s punishment had been too mild and that he needed some more. Yeah.

Loki had already risked—no, _sacrificed_ his life to save Tony’s. What more could he ask of him? To put up with his crazy ideas, his selfish actions, all his manias and paranoia and the nightmares that now haunted his sleep and his newfound claustrophobia? Yeah, right. As if Tony had enough to offer to make up for his defects.

Rumiko and Fujikawa (“Call me Kenjiro”) were alright. So was all the board of directors, which was a plus. Tony’s selfless behavior towards them had endeared his proposal to them, and they practically tripped each other to accept it first.

The day they signed the deal, Kenjiro smiled warmly at him.

The day he left for the US, Rumiko asked to start dating again. “Tony, let’s get dinner,” she invited, twirling a lock of her hair on her finger.

Tony wanted very much to do so. Wanted to date her, love her, make her happy, let her make him happy in return. She really was a wonderful woman: sweet and fierce, loving and clever, and ridiculously attractive. But he couldn’t get Loki, in any of his incarnations, out of his mind. So he told her exactly that, holding her hand in both of his. “Sorry, Rumiko. There’s someone I love, someone else, and until I stop… Well. There’s no way I can love you back with the attention you deserve.”

She looked down, her lips pressed together, and pulled her fingers from Tony’s grasp. “It’s Osawa-san, isn’t it?”

Tony thought about lying. He could tell it that no, it was Pepper, actually, the only woman to ever hold his affections for more than one year at a time. But instead he simply clenched his eyes shut and nodded.

Rumiko regarded him with sad eyes full of pity, before turning her back on him and walking away.

After that, Tony gave the mansion one last tour, officially to search for stuff he might have forgotten lying around, but actually wanting to see Loki one more time, if only to get a definite ‘ _Nope, not interested_ ,’ from him.

As his luck would have it, he found Mai instead, watching television with the white cat, Freya (the name made so much more sense, in retrospect), curled up on her lap. It was the last room; her and Piotr’s room. He’d checked everywhere else.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Stark?” Mai asked without lifting her head, playing with the cat’s cute pink paws. “You’re going to miss your plane.”

Ouch. So dismissive. “Wanted to say goodbye to your husband, actually,” Tony replied. Then he winced, because, hadn’t he learned his lesson? ‘ _Remember Mai, the fantastic fox demon of Japanese lore, with her nine tails — which, according your research, means she is about as old as Loki, and incredibly powerful? How about we don’t antagonize her, Tony?'_

But Mai didn’t look annoyed. In fact, when she looked up to peer at him, her eyes had a mischievous gleam about them. And also she was smiling, her teeth white and sharp.

Tony feared for his life.

“Did he not tell you?” she said leadingly, with all the airs of not really giving many fucks. “Piotr will be accompanying you.”

Tony blinked. He squashed the seed of hope that germinated in his chest. Kitsune were trickster spirits; no wonder Loki had taken a shine to her. He wouldn’t put it past them to play a prank on him, now that they knew his weak spot. “To the airport, you mean?”

Mai laughed. “To your destination.” Propping Freya up in her lap, she grabbed her left paw and made her wave at Tony. “I keep the cat.” The cat didn’t seem displeased about that, purring loud enough for Tony to hear. “Take care of him.”   

If Tony had to describe Mai right now, he’d say she looked wistful. Longing, maybe. But he was too busy reveling in the knowledge that _Loki had chosen_ him to care much about her. “I—I will,” he gasped, his heart filling his chest to bursting. “Thank you!” He managed one heartfelt bow before running full tilt through the house.

When he got outside, he saw a sleek sports car. Someone in uniform, presumably the driver, was putting Tony’s bags, as well as some unfamiliar ones, into the trunk.

Heart beating in his throat, Tony almost ripped the car door off its hinges as he opened it. Barely daring to hope, he peered inside.

Loki was there, waiting for him In the backseat. His hair was still long, worn in a braid that spilled over his shoulder and pooled in his lap, and he was smiling softly as he looked back at Tony. “No need to look like you’re dying, Tony,” he said, patting the spot behind the passenger’s seat.

Tony got inside with grace and poise. Honest. And then slammed the car door shut. “Well, I hate it when I’m not the one driving,” he said, and then he flinched. One of the unspoken rules of smalltalk was that you didn’t reveal deep secrets, like his extreme dislike of not being behind the wheel and having to trust the skills and reflexes of someone else.

Loki hummed and patted Tony’s thigh. The touch felt electric. “Look on the upside. At least it’s not a cab.”

That startled a sharp back of laughter out of Tony. Make one stupid comment… He shook his head, grinned, and covered Loki’s hand with his own. “Tony Stark,” he quoted himself from four years ago, “in a cab?”

Loki laughed. He was beautiful. And his hand was warm when it turned in Tony’s and entwined their fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> This concludes Like Absinthe. I hope you enjoyed! Ahhh, so sad to see this series go! 
> 
> Oh, and before you go, lemme show you [a fanart by RinGreen](http://rngrn.tumblr.com/post/48376924084) that got stuck in my head so hard back when she posted it that is was the only thing I knew for sure was going to happen in this chapter, back when Absinthe was still just one fic.


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